


An Honest Woman

by WickedTheRedHorse



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Female Jaime Lannister, Genderbending, Genderswap, Male Brienne of Tarth, Male Cersei Lannister, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-09
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:15:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 106,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25166812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WickedTheRedHorse/pseuds/WickedTheRedHorse
Summary: Genderbent Lannister twins. A different take on the conversation with Catelyn in A Clash of Kings and the events that follow. And just for fun, Ser Brien of Tarth. In this AU Jaime married Stannis after the rebellion, who was given Storm's End, whilst Robert married Ashara Dayne. Cersen married Lysa Tully before Harrenhal, having not joined the Kingsguard.
Relationships: Catelyn Tully Stark/Ned Stark, Cersei Lannister/Jaime Lannister, Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth, Lysa Tully Arryn/Cersei Lannister, Robert Baratheon/Ashara Dayne, Stannis Baratheon/Jaime Lannister
Comments: 55
Kudos: 106





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ASOIAF genderbend is always fun, but sadly quite rare. I thought I'd try it with one of the best scenes in the series. This one got away from me a little, so see the end of the chapter for a longer note. 

"Go back to your ale and leave us," Catelyn commanded the abashed gaoler, taking down a nearby hanging oil lamp. "Ser Brien, see that I am not disturbed," The big knight nodded, moving to stand just outside the cell. 

"My lady will call if she has need of me,"

Catelyn took a breath, then pushed open the heavy door and stepped into foul darkness. The lamplight revealed old straw underfoot, patches of niter on the walls, an overflowing pail in one corner and a huddled shape in the other. The flagon of wine stood untouched near the door. _So much for that ploy_.

The prisoner raised hands grey with dirt to cover her face, the chains around her wrists clanking. 

"Lady Stark," Her voice was hoarse with disuse. "I fear I am in no condition to receive you." 

_Kingslayer_. 

Catelyn couldn't bear to think of the woman as anything but a murderess and a liar, for the idea that a wife and mother could do the things she had done was too much. It just seemed wrong, unnatural, though the gods could hardly have come up with a more absurd pair than Stannis Baratheon and Jaime Lannister. _They say she killed him too_.

"Look at me, my lady," Anyone else, and Catelyn would have felt pity, even disgust, at a highborn woman being treated like a common criminal. With this one, however, her heart was hardened. 

"The light hurts my eyes. A moment, if you would," Jaime had been allowed near no sort of blade after her display on the night she was taken in the Whispering Wood - her cousin Daven's crushing defeat - and her hair had grown wild and long. Hanging in unwashed tangles to below her waist, the mane of curls still glinted gold in the lamplight and made her look like the lion on her house's arms, magnificent even in chains. Her once-fine bodice and skirts were tattered rags, rotting on her body, her face was pale and wasted... Yet even so, the beauty of the woman was still apparent, and the danger.

"I see you had no taste for the wine I sent you," Catelyn said.

"Such sudden generosity seemed somewhat suspect,"

"I can have your head off any time I want. Why would I need to poison you?"

"Death by poison can seem natural. Harder to claim that my head simply fell off," Jaime squinted up at her, cat-green eyes growing used to the light. "I'd invite you to sit, but your brother has neglected to provide me a chair,"

"I can stand well enough."

"Can you? You look terrible, I must say. Though perhaps it's just the light in here," She smirked. Jaime was fettered at the wrist, but not the ankle - Catelyn did not get too close for this reason, having seen the vicious way she could fight - though she could neither stand nor lie comfortably as the chains were bolted to a deliberately awkward point in the wall. "Are my bracelets heavy enough for you, or did you come to add a few more? I'll rattle them prettily if you like,"

"You brought this on yourself," She reminded the woman. "We granted you the comfort of a tower cell befitting your birth and station. You repaid us by trying to escape,"

"A cell is a cell," Jaime said flatly. "Some under Casterly Rock make this one seem a sunlit garden. One day perhaps I'll show them to you," _If she is cowed, she hides it well_. 

"A woman chained in a dungeon should keep a more courteous tongue in her mouth, my lady. I did not come here to be threatened,"

"No?" She smirked. "Then surely it was to have your pleasure of me? That's what they usually want. It's said that we widows grow weary of our empty beds, though I'll admit, I hardly miss Stannis from mine," _But you had eight of his children all the same_. _No, six, and two of your brother's bastards_. " I've never been with a woman before, but I suppose I could still service you if that's what you need. You think me a whore already, I might as well live up to my reputation. Pour us some of that wine and slip out of that gown and we'll see if I'm up to it," 

Jaime's smile cut like a knife. Catelyn stared down at her in revulsion. _Was there ever a woman as beautiful or as vile as this one?_

"If you said that in my son's hearing, he would kill you for it,"

"Would he?" Jaime tilted her head. "We both know the boy hasn't the stomach to kill a woman. Even me,"

"My son may be young, but he has honour. The fact you deem an unwillingness to kill women a weakness is very telling," The woman smiled again at that.

"Did the old Kings of Winter hide behind their mothers' skirts as well? My boys would rather die than use me as a shield, all four of them," She looked away slightly. "More's the pity," _She has four sons. What must it be like, to bear the shame of having a mother like her? Though by all accounts, Joffrey is a monster too._

"I grow weary of this, my lady," Catelyn said sharply. "There are things I must know," 

"Why should I tell you anything?" The idea seemed to amuse Jaime.

"To save your life,"

"You think I fear my own death?" She gave a slight scoff.

"You should. Your crimes will have earned you a place of torment in the deepest of the seven hells, if the gods are just," _Treason, incest, adultery, murder, the deaths of kings and children_.

"What gods are those, Lady Catelyn?" Her tone was sardonic. "The trees your husband prayed to? How well did they serve him when my brother took his head off?" Jaime gave a chuckle. "If there are gods, why is the world so full of pain and injustice?"

"Because of men like your brother... and women like you,"

"There are no women like me. There's only me,"

 _There is nothing here but arrogance and pride, and the empty courage of a madwoman. They did say she was half-mad, unstable. I am wasting my breath with this one. If there was ever a spark of decency or kindness or honour in her, it is long dead_. 

"If you will not speak with me, so be it," Catelyn snapped. "Drink the wine or piss in it, my lady, it makes no matter to me," Her hand was at the door when the woman spoke.

"Lady Stark," She turned. "Things go to rust in this damp. Even a lady's courtesies," Jaime smiled again, so disturbingly sweetly that it took her somewhat by surprise. "Stay, and you shall have your answers... for a price,"

"You have no shame. Captives do not set prices,"

"Oh, you'll find mine modest enough. Your turnkey tells me nothing but vile lies, and he cannot even keep them straight. One day he says Cersen has been flayed, and the next it's my six year old daughters," Her tone was carefully even, and Catelyn quashed the twinge of sympathy she felt. "Answer my questions and I'll answer yours,"

"Truthfully?"

"Oh, it's truth you want?" Jaime's eyes sharpened. "Be careful, my lady. Tyrion says that people often claim to hunger for truth, but seldom like the taste when it's served up."

"I am strong enough to hear anything you care to say,"

"As you will, then," She smiled slightly at that, as though she'd love to prove her wrong. "But first, if you'd be so kind... the wine. My throat is raw," Catelyn moved the cup and flagon closer. "Sour and vile," Jaime swallowed. "But it will do," She leant back against the wall and drew her knees up to her chest, seeming not to care that much of her bare leg was exposed through a tear in her skirts, and stared at her. "Your first question, Lady Catelyn?" Not knowing how long her compliance would last, Catelyn wasted no time. 

"Is Cersen Joffrey's father?"

"You would never ask unless you knew the answer,"

"I want it from your own lips,"

"Joffrey is Cersen's," Jaime shrugged. "As is Myrcella. The others are clearly Baratheons, should you wish to cause more trouble there," _Baratheons, aye, but by Stannis or Robert?_ She gave the hint of a warning look, despite her deliberately light tone. Catelyn got the impression that she had only told her that much because everyone knew the truth already. 

"You admit to being your brother's lover?"

"I've always loved my brother, and you owe me two answers. Do all my kin still live?"

"Ser Daven got away in the Whispering Wood, though you know that already," Surely the sting of her own cousin abandoning her had to hurt the woman in some way, but she only stared, appearing unaffected. _A good mask, or empty inside?_ "Ser Stafford Lannister was slain at Oxcross, I am told,"

"Uncle Dolt, my father called him," Jaime was still unmoved. "It's my children who concern me, them and my brothers. As well as my lord father,"

"They live, all of them," _But not long, if the gods are good_. Catelyn immediately felt a stab of guilt at that thought, at hoping for the death of another woman's children, even a woman like this. Joffrey was a monster, that was undeniable, but she had met six more of Jaime Lannister's children. 

The eldest girl Helia had been rather like her mother, proud, fierce and sharp, but lacked her characteristic arrogance and deliberately offensive bravado. Arthur was as cocky as many eleven year old squires were prone to be, but had the skill at arms to back it up, and a sharp wit that had even had the sullen Prince Lyonel smiling. Myrcella was sweet and bold, a perfect lady just like Sansa, and the youngest boy, Steffon, reminded her of Bran, clever and gentle. The two little twin girls were terrors, but Catelyn could not help but think of Arya when she remembered them, wilful and dauntless. _How could a woman as hateful as her raise children like that?_

"Ask your next," Jaime drank some more wine, and Catelyn wondered if she would dare answer her next question with anything but a lie. 

"How did my son Bran come to fall?"

"My brother flung him from a window. I watched," _If I had a knife, I would kill you now_ , Catelyn thought, until she remembered the girls. Her throat constricted as she replied.

"You have children of your own, a son the same age as Bran. Your brother was a knight, sworn to defend the weak and innocent,"

"He was weak enough, but perhaps not so innocent. He was spying on us," Jaime's words were callous, but for the first time there seemed something faintly resembling regret in the woman's eyes. It only infuriated her more.

"Bran would not spy,"

"Then blame those precious gods of yours, who brought the boy to our window and gave him a glimpse of something he was never meant to see." Jaime's voice sharpened, and any regret, barely there as it was, was gone in an instant.

"Blame the gods?" Catelyn said, incredulous. "Your brother's was the hand that threw him, whilst you stood and did nothing. You meant for him to die,"

"I seldom allow children to be flung from towers to improve their health. Yes, we meant for him to die," The woman held Catelyn's stare. "Though tell me, my lady, if there was a secret that a boy of seven could spill, which would ensure not only you and your beloved Ned lost your heads, but also your eldest son and sweet little daughter Sansa, leaving your other children shamed and despising you, what would you have done?"

" _Don't_ ," She breathed, furious, not even wanting to think of her answer. "Don't even try to justify what you did. You meant for him to die to hide your filthy secret, and when he did not, you knew your danger was worse than ever, so you gave your cat's-paw a bag of silver to make certain Bran would never wake,"

"Did I now?" Jaime took a long swallow of wine. "I won't deny we talked of it, but you were with the boy day and night, your maester and Lord Eddard attended him frequently, and there were guards, even those damned direwolves... it would have required cutting through half of Winterfell. And why bother, when the boy seemed like to die of his own accord?"

"If you lie to me, this session is at an end," Catelyn showed the woman her damaged hands. "The man who came to slit Bran's throat gave me these scars. You swear you had no part in sending him?"

"On my honour as a Lannister,"

"The honour of a murderous whore is worth less than this," She kicked over the waste pail. Jaime backed away from the spill as far as her chains would allow. 

"I may indeed have shit for honour, I won't deny it," Her eyes were dark. "But as my glowing reputation should tell you, I have never hired anyone to do my killing. I didn't earn the title of murderess for nothing. Believe what you will, Lady Stark, but if I had wanted your Bran dead I would've approached him with a friendly smile, a gentle hand, put him at ease, then stabbed him with a golden dagger before he knew what was happening," The sickness in Catelyn's stomach evidently showed in her expression, as the woman smiled humourlessly. "Yes, you can understand why we didn't go through with that particular plan,"

 _Gods be merciful, she's telling the truth_. Catelyn didn't know if it disturbed her to see such darkness in another woman, or comforted her to know even a mother such as the Kingslayer had not sunk so low as to order the death of a boy a year younger than her own youngest son. 

"If you did not send the killer, your brother did," She accused.

"If so, I'd know. Cersen keeps no secrets from me,"

"Then it was the Imp," Jaime's eyes narrowed at that. _Tyrion mentioned she was the only one who showed him any kindness in his childhood... Lover to one brother, mother to another_. 

"Tyrion is as innocent as your Bran," She said. "He wasn't climbing around outside of anyone's window, spying,"

"Then why did the assassin have his dagger?"

"What dagger was this?"

"It was so long," Catelyn held her hands apart. "Plain, but with a blade of Valyrian steel and a dragonbone hilt. Your brother won it from Lord Baelish at the tourney on Prince Lyonel's name day," The woman's expression tightened at the mention of Lyonel, but Catelyn wasn't even planning on getting into the accusations that Jaime and her brother had arranged the death of Robert Baratheon's only son to get their vile incest spawn Joffrey named as heir.

"I know what you think of me, but I had no part in the death of Ashara's son," That seemed to have touched a nerve, more than anything else she had said so far. "But believe what you like," Jaime poured, drank, poured, and stared into her wine cup. Catelyn marvelled at her unrestrained thirst for drink, but was hardly about to object to anything loosening her tongue. The woman seemed to shake herself out of a wave of brooding then, smiling abruptly, disarmingly. "This wine seems to be improving as I drink it. Imagine that. I seem to remember that dagger, now that you describe it. Won it, you say? How?"

"Wagering on your brother when he tilted against the Knight of Flowers," Yet when she heard her own words Catelyn knew she had gotten it wrong. "No... was it the other way?"

"Tyrion always wagered against Cersen in the lists," Jaime said with a regretful smile. "But that day, he unhorsed Ser Loras. A mischance, for certain. I love my brother, but he was never a jousting prodigy. Whatever Tyrion wagered, he lost... Though that dagger did change hands, I recall it now. Robert showed it to me that night at the feast. His Grace loved an excuse to paw at me, especially when drunk. And when was he not drunk?" She gave a wry smile. 

_He was your husband's brother, your best friend's husband, yet you lay with him anyway... though_ _why should that be a surprise? Y_ _ou killed Aerys, Stannis, Robert, Lyonel, even the little princesses, and likely talked Queen Ashara off that tower too._

But Tyrion Lannister had said much the same thing. Catelyn had refused to believe him. Petyr had sworn otherwise... And yet Jaime and Tyrion told the same story. The pair had not seen each other since leaving Winterfell more than a year ago. 

"Are you trying to deceive me?"

"I've admitted to watching Cersen shove your precious urchin out a window and not lifting a finger to stop it, what would it gain me to lie about this knife?" Jaime tossed down another cup of wine, eyes slightly bleary, and Catelyn began to fear the woman may become too drunk to question if she kept this up much longer. "Believe what you will, I'm past caring what people say of me. And it's my turn. Who's at war with who? Has Lord Baratheon taken the field?" _Lord Baratheon, as in Orryn, your second son, the rightful king._

"He has not," Catelyn replied. 

"Now there's a niggardly response. Give me more than that, or your next answer will be as poor,"

"Orryn Baratheon remains in Storm's End as its lord," She said grudgingly. "There seems to be silence on that front. Renly is dead, murdered at Bitterbridge,"

"A pity," Jaime said. "I rather liked Renly. He was more fun than my dear late husband, and unlike Robert, I rarely wished to stab him. What side have the Tyrells taken?"

"Renly, at first. Now, I could not say," That had been, and still was, a worry. It looked increasingly likely that the Tyrells would go over to the Lannisters. The woman clearly realised this, as she smiled.

"Your boy must be feeling lonely,"

"Robb was sixteen a few days past... A man grown, and a king. He's won every battle he's fought,"

"He hasn't faced my father yet, has he?"

"When he does, he'll defeat him. As he did your cousin," It was beyond Catelyn why Jaime had been at that battle, or even travelling with her cousin's forces in the first place, rather than remaining in King's Landing with her son, the king. 

"He took Daven unawares," Jaime narrowed her eyes. "A craven's trick,"

"You dare talk of tricks? Your brother Tyrion sent us cutthroats in envoy's garb, under a peace banner,"

"If it were your daughter Sansa in this cell, wouldn't her brothers do as much for her? What's a sister's life when honour is at stake, eh?" _Sansa only has one brother now_. Jaime drank more wine. "Tyrion is clever enough to realise that your son will never consent to ransom me. I never know a woman could be worth so much. I should have been exchanged within weeks for your daughters," She smiled once more. Catelyn could not deny it. 

"Robb's bannermen would sooner see you dead. Rickard Karstark in particular. You slew one of his sons in the Whispering Wood,"

"The one with the white sunburst, was he?" Jaime shrugged. "They attacked me first, my lady, as you saw. Dragged me off my horse, and thought I'd come quietly. If it had been a man who killed them, would Karstark be as angry, I wonder? It must be shameful to die at a woman's hand, even an infamous murderess like myself, but I killed them in fair fight, in the heat of battle. Any knight would have done the same,"

"How can you compare yourself to a knight, when you have forsaken every vow you ever swore?" _She was Aerys' ward, a guest in his home, friends with his wife and Elia Martell, yet seduced him and stabbed him in the back. She broke her marriage vows at every opportunity, lied and cheated and killed._

"So many vows... they make you swear and swear, and pile on expectations too," Jaime refilled her cup. "Obey the king, and your father. Obey your husband and have his children. Love your brother. Respect the gods. Be sweet, strong, meek, and know your place. Be humble, beautiful, willing yet chaste. It's too much. No matter what you do, you're forsaking one vow or the other." She took a gulp of wine and closed her eyes, leaning her head back against the mildewed wall. "I've learned to judge a man for the vows he keeps, my lady, rather condemn him for those he breaks. I might have broken my marriage vows, but look at me, here, now. Could you ever say that I would not move heaven and earth for my children?"

"One kept vow does not cancel out a broken one, Kingslayer,"

"Kingslayer," She pronounced carefully. "And such a king he was!" She lifted her cup mockingly. "To Aerys Targaryen, the Second of His Name. And to the blade that opened his throat. It was a sword, you know. People like to believe the more sordid version, that I stabbed him in the back with a dagger having weaselled my way in his bed," She gave a harsh laugh. "He'd likely have preferred it that way, and called me Joanna all the while,"

As she laughed, Catelyn knew the wine had more than done its work; Jaime had drained most of the flagon, and was drunk. 

"Only a woman like you would be proud of such an act,"

"I told you, there are no women like me. Answer me this, Lady Stark—did your Ned ever tell you the manner of his father's death? Or his brother's?"

"They strangled Brandon while his father watched, and then killed Lord Rickard as well," _Why was she asking about it now?_

"Killed, yes, but how?"

"The cord or the axe, I suppose,"

"No doubt Ned wished to spare you," Jaime wiped her mouth. "His sweet young bride, if not quite a maiden, though I can hardly judge. Well, you wanted truth. Ask me. We made a bargain, I can deny you nothing,"

"Dead is dead," _I do not want to know this_.

"Brandon was different from his brother, wasn't he? He had blood in his veins instead of cold water. More like me," She leaned forward with a sharp, almost wolffish grin. "Perhaps we should've been betrothed instead,"

"Brandon was nothing like you," _Jaime Stark._ The thought was disturbing. Memories of the woman flirting with Ned during the king's visit to Winterfell flashed through her mind, even know she believed Jaime had merely been doing it to taunt her. _Was that it, though? It hadn't seemed that spiteful... friendly, almost... and she barely looked at me._

One sin Catelyn and all reasonable people knew Jaime Lannister was innocent of was being the mother of Ned Stark's bastard, but the absurd rumours persisted nonetheless. In truth, it seemed like the rumours believed every man the Kingslayer had ever spoken to had been her lover at some point, and surely that was not true. _It's her own fault. She ruined her own reputation, no one did that for her._

| ... _text_ _cut, see notes at end_ ... |

"As for Lord Rickard, the steel of his breastplate turned cherry-red before the end, and his gold melted off his spurs and dripped down into the fire. I stood at the foot of the Iron Throne beside men in their white armour and white cloaks, filling my head with thoughts of Cersen. Poor Ser Areden Sarsfield looked ready to pass out. He was only three years older than me, I believe, newly made a Kingsguard. After, I heard Gerold Hightower himself take the boy aside and say to him, 'You swore a vow to guard the king, not to judge him.' That was the White Bull, an honourable man, all agree,"

"Aerys..." Catelyn could taste bile at the back of her throat. The story was so hideous she suspected it had to be true. _She speaks of it like it were yesterday. Does she truly remember all that, or did she embellish?_ "Aerys was mad, the whole realm knew it, but if you would have me believe you slew him to avenge Brandon Stark..."

"I made no such claim. The Starks were nothing to me. I will say, I think it passing odd that I am reviled by so many for my finest act. At Robert's coronation, I saw them staring at me, heard the whispers that I'm half-mad, wanton and treacherous. Those whispers were there at my wedding, there in every room I enter. As for your Ned, I must say I was rather surprised when he was one of the few to not judge so harshly. But then, he was there in person, and saw me sat on Robert's throne, bloody sword across my knee, no treacherous dagger in sight. I think Ned Stark loved Robert better than he ever loved his brother or his father... or even you, my lady. He was never unfaithful to Robert, was he?" Jaime gave a drunken laugh, and from this woman in particular, it stung. "Come, Lady Stark, don't you find this all terribly amusing?"

"I find nothing about whores amusing, Kingslayer,"

"That name again. You're all the same. You call me a whore, but Littlefinger had you first, didn't he?" Her smile was designed to cut deep. "Until my wedding day, I had never laid with any man but Cersen, no matter how Aerys groped and leered, no matter how many rumours went flying about me and Arthur Dayne, or Rhaegar, or Sarsfield, or whoever else. Then there was Stannis, my lawful husband. And as for Robert," She paused, anger clouding her drunken eyes. "Well, I could do nothing about that,"

That seemed to be another sore point, and for whatever reason, Catelyn found she couldn't make a cruel remark on it. 

"Had it been my choice, I would never have left my brother's side. But we don't always get a choice. You wouldn't understand, you're an honest woman," Jaime's tone was mocking. "I've learnt that most honest women are just lucky. What would you have done if, say, your dear husband's old friend Robert took advantage of _you_ being drunk and alone? He's the king, and a big man, your blows bounce off his chest like nothing and, should you tell anyone, your husband would behead you himself,"

"Ned would never - " Catelyn stopped herself but had said too much, as Jaime's smile grew.

"Ned would never," She said carefully. "I don't doubt it. You blame me in part for your husband's death, but you forget, he was my ally in screaming at Robert about the Targaryen children, the only one who didn't look at me like I was moments away from my wits snapping. Ned would _never_... but Stannis would," Catelyn took a step back. 

"Brien,"

"It's luck of the draw, Lady Stark," Jaime Lannister upended the flagon, legs spread on the floor with all the grace of a tavern wench as she leaned against the wall. A trickle of wine ran down onto her face. "And you still don't believe a word I say. Kingslayer. Murderess. Whore. I've heard it all before, but had _any_ of those actions been my brother's, he'd be praised as a hero,"

Brien stepped inside the cell. 

"You called, my lady?" Catelyn held out her hand.

"Give me your sword," 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So in this AU Jaime married Stannis after the rebellion, who was given Storm's End, whilst Robert married Ashara Dayne. Cersen married Lysa Tully before Harrenhal, having not joined the Kingsguard; at the start of AGOT he was Master of Laws, and is now Joffrey's Lord Regent.
> 
> Children of Jaime and Stannis (though Joffrey and Myrcella are Cersen's): Joffrey (14), twins Orryn and Helia (13), Arthur (11), Myrcella (10), Steffon (8) and twins Argella and Roanna (5). Ages are from the start of AGOT.
> 
> Children of Robert and Ashara: Lyonel (died at 13), Maris (died at 10) and Cassana (4, gone missing).
> 
> Children of Cersen and Lysa: Tychus (15), Joanna (14), Leila (13), Genalyn (7), (and many miscarriages in between)
> 
> I understand that much of this text is straight from the book A Clash of Kings (so credits to GRRM). If there is any problem with this at all, please let me know and I will take it down immediately. I tried to change the original text where I could, as well as trim it down and cut out sections that didn't serve the purpose of demonstrating female Jaime's character. 
> 
> I might leave this as a stand-alone bit of fun, or continue this as a story; I have the whole backstory leading up to this point (hence some of the references to events like Stannis' death), along with the ASOS chapters after this too, with Lady Jaime and Ser Brien. So please comment where you think this work should go. Thanks for reading.


	2. Before I

Jaime was lying stretched out in her brother's bed, legs tangled in the sheets, not bothering to cover her bare chest as her mane of curly hair fanned out around her head like a halo. The thought amused her. _The very picture of holiness_. Her brother had pulled on his breeches and gotten to his feet, pouring himself some wine from the decanter on the table. In the candlelight, his skin had a warm hue and his hair glinted gold. 

"If anyone was going to marry you, it should have been Robert," Cersen was saying. She was hardly listening, in truth. He had been on this subject when she first came to him that night, and she had kissed him to shut him up. The moment they were done, however, he was back at it once more. "Then it would be far less struggle to get our son on the throne. And you would always have lived in King's Landing, not vanished off to Storm's End for years,"

"They _were_ going to marry me to Robert, if you recall," Jaime drawled, propping herself up on her elbow to face him. "Until they insisted on checking I was still a maiden," That had been 'just a formality', according to Jon Arryn, meant to get rid of the rumours that the Mad King had violated during her time as his ward (hostage). 

She understood _those_ rumours, at least; Aerys had hardly been subtle in his lust for her, making lewd comments and groping her in public, though even he hadn't dared to go further than that with Tywin Lannister's daughter, the man he wouldn't admit to relying on to put down Robert's Rebellion. What Jaime had not understood was the need for that wrinkled old septa to poke around inside her to confirm the fact. Of course, the woman had found that she hadn't been a maiden in years, her father still thought to this day that Aerys raped her, and she was quietly married off to Robert's younger brother instead, whilst the king took Ashara Dayne to wife. Who was hardly a virgin either, but at least she didn't have probable madness as an additional stain on her reputation.

"Besides, I killed the last king," Jaime added. "A kingslayer queen would've raised a few eyebrows," It was for the best. She would have disliked being queen, and disliked being married to Robert even more. Even dull, humourless Stannis was better than that man. At least if she told her husband to fuck off, he did.

"Then it's your own fault," Cersen sneered. "You _chose_ to kill Aerys. Gods, Jaime, do you ever think ahead? You could have been queen, instead of that miserable Dornish wretch," _Wretch?_ Ashara was perhaps the one woman in Westeros more beautiful than Jaime herself. It was a good thing she wasn't the jealous type. "Our son could have been a _king,_ "

"Lord Baratheon is hardly an empty title," She laughed at him, unconcerned. "And truly, I would rather Joffrey became a septon than a king _or_ a lord. He would cause less damage," Jaime was not the kind of mother who was blind to her children's faults or proclaimed them wonderful in every way. She loved her eldest son to a point, and had done what she could for him, but even she would openly admit that he was a little shit. Which was perhaps why the boy preferred Cersen's company to her own.

"Joff has spirit, unlike the rest of your brood," Her brother waved an impatient hand, sipping his wine. He had always resented the fact that six of her eight children had black hair; or more likely resented the fact that there was living proof another man had fucked her. Even after all this time, he grew angry at any mention of her husband, whilst he brushed off her annoyances about Lysa as childish, petty jealousy. "He would make a strong king, I've been telling you for years," _Strong, yes, and despised by his people_.

"And I've been ignoring you for years," Jaime shrugged. "Even if Joffrey was not who he is, _even_ if I wanted him to be king, Robert has three trueborn children already,"

"Lyonel is a feeble weakling who would not last three moons on the throne," Her brother scoffed. "And the girls are children, as you say, the youngest barely more than a toddler. There would be unrest if either was queen,"

"You say that like there would be no unrest if all three of the king's children suddenly died, then the king himself, then the king's brother," She raised an eyebrow. "Then, _oh look_ , Stannis' half-Lannister son, who looks _all_ Lannister, takes the throne, with his dear Uncle Cersen as regent,"

"Don't act like you know how politics works," Her brother sneered. "You don't take anything seriously, Jaime. I learned how to rule from Father's knee, whilst you smiled prettily and played tea-parties with the Martell bitch and that old slug of a Targaryen queen, only to weep like a foolish child when they died," _Died_. That made it sound as though Elia and Rhaella had peacefully passed away in their sleep.

"It's called making friends, brother," Jaime smiled sharply. "You should try it some time. I hear it helps in politics,"

Despite her words to her twin, Jaime did not make true friends easily. As a girl, she'd had the highborn girls that the lords of the Westerlands had sent to Casterly Rock to be her companions, and had had little interest in them at first, but with Cersen spending more time apart from her, learning to be a lord, she had grown to enjoy their company at least. It was always rather entertaining persuaded perfectly-behaved young ladies to go swimming in the sea in their small clothes, to sneak off without a guard or skip lessons with Septa Saranella. Yet Jaime had rarely been saddened when these girls returned home. 

It had been the same when she was sent to court, aged twelve. Jaime was beautiful, confident and witty, from one of the most powerful houses in Westeros, of course everyone wanted to be her friend. With little else to do in the castle, she let them. But again, she cared little for any of those ladies beyond enjoying their company.

Princess Elia had been different. Elia and her lady-in-waiting Ashara Dayne. Jaime wasn't sure what made those two in particular mean more to her than the rest. Perhaps it was because they cared about her, too, beyond her high birth and beauty. Jaime didn't remember when she had realised that Elia was a true friend - only that she always cared not a jot that the woman had married Rhaegar, who Lord Tywin had wanted for her - but she remembered for Ashara; it was after she had caught her brother Arthur sparring with Jaime in secret, and instead of disapproval, she had laughed and said Jaime was near as good as he was.

The now-queen's attitude to her friend's unconventional interests had largely remained the same since then. Jaime, sweating and filthy from training in the secret courtyard she had found years ago, pushed her way into Ashara's chambers without knocking, seeing the queen kneeling on the floor with her young daughter Maris, both playing with Princess Cassana, who was dressing up an expensive doll with a big smile on her chubby toddler face. 

"I'm jealous," Jaime said with a grin, nodding at the little princess and her doll. "None of mine were ever so sweet," Her own little twins, a year older than Cassana, were more like to start hitting each other with it. The queen laughed. She had a beautiful laugh, warm and expressive, unlike Jaime, whose own was typically harsh and mocking.

"I can hardly imagine you were the type to enjoy dressing up dolls yourself, Jaime," She said. 

"I did have a doll once," Jaime replied. "Some ragged old cloth thing a baker's wife in Lannisport gave me during a ride there with my mother," Her aunts had brought her fancier porcelain dolls, with arms that moved and real hair, but she had always disdained those ones in favour of that rag doll. "I carried it everywhere for a year or two," Then Cersen had told her she was acting like a baby, and it had been forgotten in some chest ever since. "I used to make it fight my brother's wooden knights," She grinned at the memory. 

"Nothing changes there, then," Ashara's eyes shone with amusement. "I'd invite you to the princess' feast," She nodded solemnly to the dolls arranged in a circle around tiny cups and plates. "But it's hardly seemly to turn up smelling like you've not washed for weeks," Sparring for three hours would do that. Jaime would admit she hardly smelled pleasant, and likely looked a mess, but didn't particularly care. 

"I'm making the most of Ser Aredan whilst I'm here," She said. "He might be a spineless lickspittle, but he's the best swordsman who will fight with me," _Since your brother died, that is_. Aredan Sarsfield had joined the Kingsguard at the Tourney of Harrenhal, a fearsome fighter even at eighteen. Shortly after that, Aerys had burned Brandon and Rickard Stark against Lord Tywin's advice. Her father, his Hand, had been furious at this monumental error, travelling west to supposedly gather his armies to aid the king's. But Aerys had insisted that he leave Jaime behind in King's Landing, as his ward - in truth, a hostage - and with no other option, Lord Tywin had done so. And then proceeded to ignore every message the king sent, whilst Jaime had to put up with the growing threat of being burnt herself, to punish her father. 

"I thought you'd managed to get the knights at Storm's End to spar with you?" The queen asked. 

"Some of them," She shrugged. "They're good enough, I suppose," She grinned. "I have to fight two at once to make it a challenge," The men had been reluctant at first, but as time passed, more and more of the knights had decided to try sparring with her - either because realised they wouldn't lose a hand for striking their lady, or to try and put her in her place - and she had beaten them all.

"You're full of yourself," Ashara said with a smile. "Although I've seen you with a sword. I suppose you have the right to be,"

"It's the one thing I'm good at, apart from looking pretty," She shrugged in response. Jaime's interest in swordplay had started after Cersen had come in from his very first training session absolutely loathing it; as they looked identical then, she had taken his place in the training yard for two years, and excelled, until their mother found out and put a stop to it. After that, she had begged her uncles, Tygett and Gerion, to teach her to fight. Neither of them would turn down an opportunity to go against her father, and readily obliged. 

"Arthur used to say you'd have been unstoppable, had you been born a boy," Ashara smiled slightly sadly at the mention of her dead brother. When Jaime had first come to court with her father, continuing to train had been difficult, but then Ser Arthur Dayne (perhaps the only man other than Cersen she had thought truly handsome) agreed to teach her further, in secret, having overheard her trying to convince his squire to spar with her. The fact that Jaime spent several hours a weeks with him, alone, had spawned many nasty rumours. It was worth it, though. They could call her a whore, but she could knock them into the dirt with ease. 

"Cersen would have hated that," She said, amused. "He resents that I'm better with a sword than him as it is, let alone if everyone knew about it," Since her marriage to Stannis, she hadn't bothered to hide that she trained with a sword from those at Storm's End, though her skill was not well known outside the castle. Her husband was oddly indifferent to the fact; her sparring hardly pleased him, but he didn't seem to care enough to stop her. Some days Jaime must have trained longer hours than any knight did, until she was covered in bruises and her limbs felt ready to drop off, simply to make up for what she thought of as lost time.

"Cersen can go and - " Ashara broke off, glancing at her daughters playing together. "Well, you know how I feel about our dear Master of Laws. I don't like the way he looks at... people," Her eyes hadn't left her daughters. 

"He wishes I was queen, so his nephew would be king," Jaime shrugged. "That's all it is," Ashara nodded absently, reaching out to stroke Maris' shiny dark hair. "I'd best go. We're meant to return to Storm's End in the next few days, and I haven't even thought about preparing," 

They weren't to leave for another two weeks, however. The night before Jaime and her children were meant to leave, she received a frantic message from Ashara saying that Princess Maris had fallen suddenly ill. Within the week, she was dead.

The room was gloomy, the curtains drawn, several thin tapers giving off what light there was. Jaime's footsteps and the rustle of her dark skirts as she entered was the only noise. Knelt by the four-poster bed, dressed entirely in black as well, was the queen.

Ashara's beautiful face was wet with tears, tormented with grief, the very picture of sadness as she clutched at the hand of the little girl lying still on the bed. She contrasted greatly with Robert in her grief, Jaime thought. She had seen the king earlier that day seemingly trying to drown himself in drink before noon, then loudly ordering a hunt. Jaime supposed Robert had had little time for his daughter in life; why should he in death?

She slowly came and knelt beside her friend.

"I'm sorry," It felt like the right thing to say, though Jaime had never been particularly good at comforting others. Usually she didn't care enough to try. When Cersen was angry, she would kiss him to shut him up, which tended to work. When her children were upset, she would try to come up with a solution. But Ashara was not Cersen, nor her child, and nothing could fix this.

Well-wishes and platitudes came to mind, each as insincere and false-sounding as the last, so she kept silent. When her mother had died all those years ago, Jaime had had people telling how the Seven would take care of her, how Lady Joanna was at peace now, how she should pray for her mother's soul. With each one, Jaime had wanted to scream in their stupid faces.

"It wasn't your fault," Ashara's voice was hoarse and pained. "She - she was always frail, and - " She broke off with a sob, falling against Jaime's shoulder and beginning to weep. After a second, Jaime's arm closed around her, as she had done with Tyrion when he was younger and crying about never been tall like his brother, and she stared into the cold, dead face of the princess.

Maris Baratheon had been a beautiful girl. How could she not have been, with the parents she had? Her hair was long and dark, her eyes a deep blueish-purple, and her face was like that of the maiden herself. But it was undeniable that the princess had always had a thin, sickly cast to her appearance, had often come down with coughs and chills as a younger child, and now, aged nine, one of them had finally taken her.

Jaime thought back to her conversations with Cersen during her previous visit to King's Landing, thought of how convinced he was that Joffrey would be king one day despite the king having three children and two brothers. _No, he couldn't have_. Maris had died from a chill, all agreed, even the maesters who had tended her.

But, as she held Ashara, shaking with great wracking sobs, her dress getting soaked through with tears, Jaime had a nasty feeling growing that wouldn't go away.

It was a good thing Prince Lyonel was not fond of riding or hunting. It would be difficult to engineer a believable fatal accident in a library. 

*

It was rare that all of Jaime's children were at Storm's End at once. Her second son Orryn had been fostered with Lord Morrigen since he was nine, and was now squire to the man's brother, Ser Richard. Arthur and Joffrey were always in King's Landing now, and Jaime was often with them herself; Cersen was there, and Ashara, and for that she would put up with all the whispers behind her back, mutters of Kingslayer and gossip as to which man she was meant to be fucking that week. 

Ashara had assured her that she didn't mind her leaving. Jaime had been doubtful of that - her friend had been a shadow of her former self in the weeks since her daughter Maris' death - but the queen had been insistent, so here she was. 

Despite lacking her brother's presence, there was something to be said for returning to Storm's End, away from the city, with all eight of her children. They were all back in the Stormlands for the funeral of Lady Estermont, their ancient great-grandmother who most of them had never met. This was their last night at Storm's End before they made the journey to Greenstone; Jaime had dubbed the castle Greenshit last time she was there, and doubted it would have improved much. But she got to see her sons, who she did not see nearly as much as she would have liked, which she supposed made putting up with the miserable place bearable. 

The occasion was rare enough that Stannis joined them as they ate. Jaime did not often dine with her husband - he was hardly the most interesting of companions, and she knew she generally irritated him - but that night was an exception.

"What do you think, Mother?" Her second daughter Myrcella grinned, turning to her with laughter in her green eyes. "The way Arthur talks, he's like to become the next Aemon Dragonknight,"

"The Dragonknight was said to be very humble and modest," Jaime said dryly. There were several snorts, and she turned to her third son, amused. "You might be as good a swordsman one day, boy, but I doubt you could ever be called humble,"

"The day the sun rises in the west, perhaps," Orryn, Helia's twin, suggested.

"I can be humble," Arthur protested, though grinned, not seeming to take offence. "And I can be more modest than anyone," Stannis scoffed slightly at that from the other end of the table. To his left sat Jaime's fourth son, Steffon, a rather quiet, shy and bookish boy of six, but very stubborn and more like his father in both looks and character than any of the others.

"What do knights care about being humble?" Joffrey scoffed from where he sat between Jaime and Helia, the two least likely to hit him (which were Stannis and Arthur), cause him to fly into a rage (Myrcella, Orryn and the little twins) or be picked on by him (Steffon). "Worries like that are for septons and women," Stannis gave him a sour look. It was no secret that he disliked his eldest son, but few could say anything on the subject, as no one truly was fond of the Baratheon heir. _Not even his own mother_.

"You'll be getting yourself a suit of that ridiculous golden armour soon enough," Her husband said darkly, glaring at Jaime like it was her fault. "Your brother was talking about having a set made for him last time I was in King's Landing. I asked Lannister why he intended to make the boy who can barely swing a sword into a shining golden target on the battlefield," From any other man that would have been a joke, but Stannis was deadly serious. Joffrey flushed red in anger, whilst Jaime wondered what exactly her brother was playing at. It was bad enough that the boy looked entirely Lannister, let alone decking him out in a suit of armour to match his uncle's.

"Joffrey _can_ swing a sword, Father," Little Argella piped up.

"We saw him practicing in the yard today," Roanna added.

"I think he lost, though," Argella said, eyes wide. "Lots of times,"

"He didn't look very happy," Roanna finished. Jaime had to grin at that, whilst Myrcella and Arthur laughed openly. The little twins might have been the two most troublesome girls in the history of House Baratheon, but most of the time Jaime could only laugh at them.

"Shut up, you little brats," Joffrey glared viciously at the twins, who glanced at each other innocently, not at all bothered.

"They're only four, Joff, calm down," Helia said, grinning. Jaime's eldest daughter, Orryn's twin, was the one who got along best with their brother, but that didn't mean she suffered his nonsense at all. As Joffrey turned his glare to her, Stannis frowned at Jaime.

"Should the twins be at dinner this late?"

"Probably not," She shrugged. "They're behaving better than I thought they would, in truth," She had been sure to give instructions to their maids to tire them out during the day, so they had the chance of sitting still for more than five minutes that evening. Argella and Roanna were more trouble than all the others had been combined, though at least she had not had to explain to either of them yet why gutting a pregnant cat to see the kittens was not an advisable pastime, unlike Joffrey at a similar age.

"Send them to bed soon," Her husband told her. "They're too young for this," Jaime forced herself to smile her most dazzling smile, which she knew had no effect on him other than mild irritation.

"Of course, my lord," He heard her sarcasm and narrowed his eyes, but quickly turned his attention back to the children as Joffrey made an outraged noise, leaping up from his chair. Argella had just flicked a bit of gravy-soaked meat at him, as most of his siblings laughed.

"How _dare_ she, the little wretch - "

"She hardly threw a knife at you, Joff," Orryn said with a raised eyebrow. 

"Sit down, boy, a drop of gravy won't kill you," Stannis snapped, and Joffrey knew better than to disobey, though he sat down with a sulky expression, glaring daggers at the twins, who had shared the briefest grin, which Jaime didn't miss. She was a twin, too. 

"It was an accident, Mother, I _promise,_ " Argella looked at her mother with wide blue eyes.

"Her spoon slipped," Roanna added, just as solemnly.

"You're both terrible liars," Jaime probably shouldn't have been grinning herself. Her husband clearly didn't think so either, but she didn't care. "Finish your dinner and then you're both going to bed,"

"What about pudding?" Roanna protested.

"Anya said there's pie and cream," _That bloody nursemaid_. 

"The pie is a dish from Essos. It's made of catgut and puppies brains," Jaime said flatly. "You wouldn't want it," They both pulled faces at that, seeming to take her word for it, as most of the others smirked.

The dinner finished in relative civility, the little twins were sent off to bed with minimal fuss, the apple pie was delicious and then the older ones went away too. 

"I suppose this is good night," Jaime got up to leave as well, only for Stannis to wordlessly grab her arm as she passed his chair. She looked down at him, amused. "Why, I should have known," Her tone was sarcastic. "The way you were glowering at me all through dinner truly captured the depths of your desire, dear husband,"

"Must you be so infuriating?" Stannis snapped, but there was no real bite to his tone, and his jaw was only clenched slightly. 

"Infuriating?" Jaime grinned, leaning against the table in front of him. "Most men dream of being married to one of the most beautiful women in Westeros, and all you can call me is infuriating?" 

"Most men don't have to put up with you all the time," He said flatly, another non-joke, but she laughed anyway. Her husband's face was as stony as ever, but she saw the look in his normally guarded eyes. Her dazzling smile and low-cut red dresses might not work on him, but he wanted her nonetheless. 

Stannis' grip on her wrist was hardly gentle as he got to his feet, towering over her. He was not as tall as Robert, but not much shorter either, with broad shoulders and a cropped black beard. Her husband could not have been more different to Cersen, with thin lips and rough skin, but she preferred that there _was_ a difference. It wasn't difficult to separate what she felt for her brother to what she felt for her husband. For one, Stannis did not look at her the same way he looked at his own reflection.

"Would you rather have had Selyse Florent, is that it?" Jaime bared her teeth, moving away from him to the door. She had laughed herself silly upon hearing that Jon Arryn had intended Stannis to marry that woman, when Jaime herself was still meant for Robert. "Surely it's worth putting up with my less desirable charms, to have a wife with more life in her than a dead fish between the sheets?" The poor serving girl who was clearing away the plates glanced in her direction briefly in shock, hastily looking away. Jaime's smile grew at the look on her husband's face as he glared at her, stomping past through the door without a word. _It's too easy infuriating this one_. Shaking her head in amusement, she followed after him. 

On the morning of her wedding, Jaime had fucked her brother, a tryst that had likely resulted in Joffrey's birth nine months later. She hadn't wanted anyone but Cersen, and he didn't want her to be anyone else's either, furious at the idea of another man bedding his other half. Her brother's dark mood had been growing as her wedding loomed closer, and he had grown short and irritable with everyone, even her. 

Before Cersen's own wedding, Jaime had begged him not to wed Lysa, but he had brushed off her distress as childish and naive, claiming Lysa meant nothing to him and he had to marry for the good of their house. Yet despite the fact she claimed that Stannis meant nothing to her, he still treated her like it was her fault for not succeeding in becoming a septa and serve at Casterly Rock, as he had convinced her to attempt years ago, before he married Lysa. Father had put a very firm (furious) stop to that the first time she tried, and was certainly watchful of any further attempts. It would never work, even Jaime realised that, reckless as she was.

Faced with Stannis at her wedding feast, she had spent the evening laughing with Tyrion at his stern, uptight demeanour, whilst drinking as much as possible, sneaking her little brother wine; he had only been ten at the time, so had not had his own cup. Her father had disapproved of her drinking, of course, but being dead drunk was likely the only way she wouldn't turn and run at the first opportunity, and he seemed to realise that, for he said nothing.

When the king gave the call for the bedding ceremony, eagerly stumbling towards her, eyes raking openly up her body, Jaime had looked wildly around, searching for her twin - who had promised to carry her there himself, and not let anyone touch her - only to see Cersen storming out of the hall wearing a mutinous expression. 

"Jaime," Tyrion's mismatched eyes had been wide and anxious as he saw her distress. "I - I can try to be there instead, but I'm too small," He shuffled his feet in a way that made her want to cry. Turning her back on Robert, she knelt to hug her little brother tightly, burying her face in his neck.

"Thank you," She had murmured. "Truly," Jaime pulled back, forcing her usual sharp smile on her face. "But you don't truly want to see your sister in her smallclothes, do you?" Tyrion pulled a disgusted face and she laughed, getting back to her feet with a small drunken stagger and ruffling his hair. "Don't drink any more wine, brother, or you'll be sick,"

"Hypocrite," He muttered, and she gave a short laugh, trying to forget the fact that her twin had left her alone here to go and sulk.

Jaime had hardened her heart as Robert Baratheon lifted her clean off the ground. She was carried off amidst a dozen pairs of groping hands, lewd remarks and crude jokes, fighting the urge to squirm her way loose and flee, and, as the bedchamber grew nearer, fighting the urge to cry. The thought of being with any other man than her brother truly sickened her stomach. _We could have run together, if you'd been willing to give up the Rock_.

She hadn't even pretended to be a maid for her new husband. Partly in the hope he would declare her soiled, a whore, and demand the marriage annulled. Partly because she was very drunk - back then, drink had mellowed her somewhat - and just trying to minimise the potentially hideous awkwardness of letting Stannis lead. In the moment, her new husband had clearly felt far too out of his depth to point out her obvious experience, and he would hardly bring such a matter up outside the bedchamber.

Perhaps that was the one thing the man had ever let go. 

He wasn't quite the stoically awkward young man she had married anymore. Though hardly warm and loving, Stannis seemed to have realised as time went on that he was allowed to want his beautiful young wife. 

At first, Jaime had had no intention of bedding her husband more than necessary to get the required heir and a spare, but in the long months where she was away from Cersen and King's Landing, hearing of the many children and miscarriages his wife Lysa was having, her resolve changed. She loved her brother, and would never love her husband, but that didn't mean she had to act like a septa whenever Cersen wasn't around, given that he hardly hid his efforts to get another heir on Lysa. Which explained the six trueborn Baratheon children. She could have stopped after Joffrey and the twins, after all.

Her husband seemed to view women in general as some sort of alien species to be wary of. Jaime was the exception, perhaps because despite outward appearances, she wasn't a very womanly woman. As a rule, she made her feelings on certain subjects bluntly clear, and did not expect passionate declarations of love or fancy gifts, nor subject him to teary-eyed outpourings of emotion. Likely it helped that all of their initial experiences sharing a bedchamber had been initiated by her, in the hope of getting with child quickly, and she had made sure that none of those times were painfully awkward. 

But she was under no impression that Stannis cared about her enough not to have her head if he ever found out that Joffrey and Myrcella were not his children. 

*

It was rather unfortunate timing that Jon Arryn happened to die whilst Jaime was visiting the Red Keep with her daughters and Steffon.

As a rule, she did not like visiting King's Landing. The only reasons she did were Cersen and Ashara. Apart from those two, her time in the city consisted of nothing but snide whispers behind her back, of how arrogant she is, how rude and cutting, how she thinks she's too good for them all because she disdains their gossiping circles and has the queen's ear. At least the rumours that she bathed in blood had died down past the first year after killing Aerys, but the old favourites were ever-present; she's unstable and growing more so by the day, she fucks a new man each week, she's Robert's whore, jealous and bitter that she wasn't chosen to be queen. 

Jaime had stopped listening long ago. Mostly. 

The name Kingslayer followed her like a shadow, of course, but she could live with that. Killing Aerys had been her finest act, after all. 

It was for Joffrey's fourteenth nameday that she was even in the city in the first place. She would freely admit that she did not like her eldest son, and had been glad (initially) when Cersen offered to foster him in King's Landing when he was seven. She had tried with Joffrey, she truly had. But no matter what Jaime did, she could not keep him from torturing animals, reducing serving girls to tears and picking on his younger siblings far more viciously than was normal. No matter what Jaime did, she could not stop herself from actively disliking her own firstborn son. 

The boy was truly a horror, though, anyone who met him could attest to that. Except her brother, who acted as though Joffrey was the most wonderful child on gods green earth, and had spent the last seven years telling him so. But Jaime was still his mother; she supposed she should see him once a year, at least.

And now Arthur lived in the Red Keep too, having become a squire to Barristan Selmy the previous year, after the old man proclaimed him the best natural swordsman he had ever seen. It would be good to see the boy again. Her third son was perhaps most like her of all her children; he had Baratheon black hair, but his face was just like a young Cersen's, and he smiled like his mother. He was bold, reckless and had a quick wit, but though he could be rather insensitive and careless at times, he seemed to lack any kind of malice or cruelty. 

Needless to say, he did not get on with his eldest brother, but was the favourite nephew of his Uncle Robert; Joffrey was Joffrey, Orryn barely saw the king and Steffon was too much like Stannis. Even though Robert disliked Joffrey as much as the boy's own mother did, the king leapt at any excuse to hold a tourney, his nephew's nameday being an ideal occasion. 

Jon Arryn had been hale and hearty as ever, then, yet two weeks later he was dead. It wasn't a great shock to anyone - the man was old and well past his due - but it _was_ rather sudden.

But the king needed a new Hand, and it was no surprise when he declared that he was uprooting half the court and dragging them to Winterfell.

"You come too, Kingslayer," Robert had said, as Jaime bared her teeth in a semblance of a smile at him. "That pretty daughter of yours can meet Ned's boy,"

It was a good point, despite coming from that fat, drunken oaf. After the death of Princess Maris, Myrcella was likely to soon be betrothed to Robb Stark, and Jaime would rather meet the boy before promising her daughter's hand. _Because that worked so well with Helia_. Though if the eldest Stark child was anything like his father, there should be no issue.

Her twin was coming to Winterfell too. Jaime didn't quite know why, given he showed as little interest in Myrcella as he did his three trueborn daughters, but she was hardly going to complain. She had been in a good mood ever since her brother's cow of a wife had run off back to Casterly Rock with the rest of her brood. Cersen had ranted to Jaime about it afterwards; his marriage had never been a happy one, and Lysa had annoyed him so much one evening - shortly after Jon Arryn grew sick - that he had struck her. That had unleashed another torrent of incessant squawking, irritating him into allowing Lysa to take herself and their youngest two daughters west.

The eldest two were already at Casterly Rock. Fifteen year old Tychus was learning to rule under Lord Tywin, given that he and his father felt nothing but dislike and scorn for each other (likely to have started when the boy was born with Tully auburn hair rather than Lannister golden), and Joanna, a year younger, felt much the same, towards both parents.

Cersen showed remarkably little interest in any of his children but Joffrey - who everyone thought the spawn of Stannis Baratheon - resentful of the fact that after their first son, Lysa kept popping out daughters and miscarriages. Jaime had pointed out once that Tychus was an intelligent boy, more like their own father than Cersen was himself, but her twin only curled his lip in disgust at the mention of his only (trueborn) son.

However, if her brother was coming north, so was Joffrey, as his squire (though what squire's duties the boy did exactly were beyond her, he'd never polished a pair of boots in his life). For that reason, it was with seven of her eight children that Jaime made the journey north with; Arthur was coming with Ser Barristan, whilst her second son, Orryn, squired in the Stormlands.

Jaime largely avoided the modest wheelhouse that Ashara travelled in with Princess Cassana and the little twins throughout the journey, preferring to ride during the day with Helia and Myrcella, but in the evenings they all joined her friend inside. Ashara had been a ghost of her former self since Maris' death, but she seemed to appreciate the company at least. Watching sweet, smiley Princess Cassana trying to keep up with the twin devils Argella and Roanna was amusing for everyone.

As Robert greeted his old friend Eddard Stark upon their arrival to Winterfell, Jaime eyed the man carefully. Unlike the king, Stark hadn't changed a bit from the day he found her sat on the Iron Throne, aside from several premature grey hairs. Ashara was introduced, and though she was faultlessly polite, as effortlessly alluring as ever, there was a heavy sadness that hung over her in her grief. Jaime watched Stark's expression carefully as he greeted the queen, seeing nothing there of note, but that was no surprise.

After Prince Lyonel and Princess Cassana were introduced with no real enthusiasm by their father, anticipating Robert's demand to be shown to the crypts - he'd been talking of little else all day - and seeing the look on Ashara's face, Jaime quickly moved forward.

"Eddard Stark," She smiled her most dazzling smile, no doubt coming across as obnoxious as ever, but she didn't care. " _You've_ hardly changed a bit, my lord," She glanced significantly at Robert, who was oblivious, and she saw Stark's lips twitch slightly.

"Nor you, Lady Jaime," He inclined his head. She laughed. Jaime had always rather liked Stark, despite his frozen face and solemn demeanour. He had been one of the few not to think she'd lost her mind after being found on the Iron Throne covered in Aerys' blood, and had been as angry as she was at the brutal deaths of Elia and the Targaryen children.

"You're very kind," She meant that, despite her amusement; underneath the stern expression and cold words, he always was kind. As Robert lost patience and dragged his friend away, she turned her attention to the woman who had stood at his side, flashing that sharp smile again. "Lady Catelyn, it's a pleasure,"

"Lady Jaime," Catelyn nodded, smiling rather tightly. Jaime could see the look in the woman's eyes already. It was one she knew well, from the eyes of those who knew her and those that didn't, both. Dislike, judgement and scorn, hidden behind a mask of courtesy. "Welcome to Winterfell. And this must be your daughter,"

"My name is Myrcella, my lady," Myrcella stepped forward without Jaime's prompting and gave a brief but flawless curtsey, smiling in a polished way that made her seem older than ten. "You're very beautiful, as everyone says," _My bold little lady, perfect like I never was_. The rather austere look on Catelyn Stark's face softened slightly at the sight of her, and Jaime couldn't help but smirk. _She's not like me, despite her looks, if that's what you were worried about_.

"It's a pleasure, Lady Myrcella," She said more warmly, but Jaime's eyes were fixed on the Stark children. Her gaze settled on the eldest, a handsome boy of four-and-ten, stocky and strong-looking, with the reddish-brown hair of his mother and blue-grey eyes. Nothing obviously objectionable, but she'd be keeping an eye on him for the next weeks.

Robb Stark saw her looking, and smiled rather uncertainly. _Clearly his mother's been telling him tales_. Jaime shot him a sharp smile, her attention moving onto the pretty eldest daughter.

Sansa Stark did not seem particularly thrilled to be meeting her betrothed. Lyonel might be a prince, but he was hardly a maiden's dream. Though very tall and not unattractive, he was also lanky, with pasty skin and rounded shoulders. He was a poor fighter and a poorer conversationalist, socially awkward and moody, preferring to keep the company of dusty old books than actual people. Had he had a brother, perhaps he might have become a maester, but that was not an option given he was the only prince. Lyonel cared for his mother and sisters, but was wary and suspicious of most everyone else, and had no love for his father, given how Robert often mocked and belittled him.

Jaime saw Sansa's eyes flicker rather longingly to Joffrey, and wanted to laugh. _Count yourself lucky, girl. Better an awkward husband than a cruel one_. She herself had never had a phase of romantic dreaming of marrying handsome knights and princes. For as long as Jaime could remember, she hadn't wanted to marry anyone but Cersen. That was why she had resented marrying Stannis, not because he wasn't as handsome or charismatic as Robert, but because he was not her brother. 

"And you must be Helia," Lady Catelyn's voice tore Jaime away from staring at Sansa Stark.

"Yes, Lady Stark," Jaime's eldest daughter's manners were not as polished as Myrcella's, and Helia was not as beautiful as her younger sister, having not quite grown into her strong Baratheon features yet, but she was more like Jaime than any of the children. She wasn't charming, exactly, but quietly confident, sharp and sarcastic, and proud too, though she used her head a lot more than her mother ever did.

"I hear you're betrothed to my brother, Edmure. I might be calling you goodsister soon enough," At the woman's words, Jaime grimaced slightly. That notion had been one of Jon Arryn's poorer ones. She had met Edmure Tully and found him a fool. As had Helia. And Arthur had heard the story of 'the floppy fish' from one of the local smallfolk whilst out riding, and had been laughing about it for the rest of their stay in Riverrun. Even that wouldn't have been so bad, had Jaime not been laughing with him, Stannis glaring at all three of them. 

"Your brother is five-and-twenty, Lady Catelyn, and my daughter barely three-and-ten," She said. "The wedding will not take for years yet," And hopefully not at all.

"Of course," Catelyn said with a small frown.

In truth, the stay with the Starks had not been _entirely_ unpleasant. The children had enjoyed it at least. Arthur had quickly made friends with the Winterfell boys, Robb Stark in particular, and enjoyed showing off his skill with a sword, beating Robb, Theon Greyjoy and the bastard Jon Snow with apparent ease. Jaime liked to amuse herself thinking he'd inherited her skills with a sword rather than Stannis'.

Steffon, her quiet fourth son, had been fascinated by Winterfell's library. He spent much of his time with Tyrion and Prince Lyonel there, but later on seemed to befriend Bran Stark. They were of a similar age, and the more talkative Bran actually managed to drag him into the practice yard several times, something Orryn and Arthur had been trying to do for years. Jaime had even seen the pair climbing around the castle, but thankfully her son had the sense not to take the same risks the Stark boy did, so she had little to object to. 

Helia and Myrcella seemed to get along well enough with Sansa Stark, though the true friendship there seemed to be Argella and Roanna following around the younger girl Arya like two little ducklings. The nine-year-old had been irritated by the little twins at first, though seemed to have warmed up to them after Roanna had flicked porridge at Joffrey during breakfast one day. Rickon Stark too seemed fascinated with the twins, caught between sneering at them for being girls, and admiring them for acting out. She wasn't sure if they were a bad influence on him, or if the wild little Stark boy was bad for them.

Joffrey, of course, was disliked by most everyone in Winterfell, and Jaime didn't blame them, particularly after an incident in the training yard shortly after their arrival, where Robb Stark had to be restrained from attacking him. She had heard of that day from Arthur himself, angrily recounting at dinner how his brother had made a complete arse of himself, and if the same thing hadn't happened before with countless other lord's sons, she would have been angry. As it was, she had all but given up on the boy years ago. He was more Cersen's son than hers.

Despite the fact most of her children were enjoying themselves, Jaime was not so much. It wasn't just the judgement in Lady Catelyn's eyes whenever she looked at her, or the cold weather in summer, or that even that she had once walked in on Tyrion entertaining two whores (her little brother had laughed at her raised eyebrow and had the nerve to ask if she wanted one for herself). No, it was that she had scarcely had a moment alone with Cersen.

So when Robert declared that there would be hunt before the leaving feast, she was glad for the opportunity. The place Jaime took her twin to had seemed more than secluded, particularly with all the men and boys out hunting. It was the old part of the castle, what the Starks called the First Keep, ancient and crumbling but _private_.

Jaime had been being fucked against a wall by her brother when she just chanced to open her eyes slightly, seeing the small, pale face at the window over Cersen's shoulder. _Shit_.

Shit hadn't even begun to cover it when she recognised him as the Stark boy.

She hadn't wanted to kill him. Cersen hadn't either, for different reasons; he didn't want any suspicion to fall on them, whereas Jaime had been unable to stop thinking that Brandon Stark was only seven, a year younger than Steffon. _A kind boy, sweet and gentle_ , Lady Catelyn had told her that first night, smiling genuinely for once as she spoke of her children.

She had let her brother shove him out the window anyway. She didn't enjoy it, she wasn't that much of a monster, but it was necessary. This boy died, or Cersen, Joffrey and Myrcella did, with the rest of her children being left motherless, as her own head would surely be the first to go. Jaime knew that whilst her husband might be fonder of her than he was of most - women in general he seemed to view as an alien species - she was under no impressions that he held her in higher regard than his duty. Other husbands might simply send their wives and her bastards away in disgrace, but not Stannis. Perhaps he would spare Myrcella, but she would live out her days in misery with the Silent Sisters, and as much as Jaime disliked Joffrey, she did not wish to see him dead. She would have pushed the boy herself if it prevented that from happening.

Now, however, the following evening, when Brandon Stark was still refusing to die, Cersen was panicking. He masked it with anger, but she knew him well enough to see through that.

"He was _seven_ , Jaime," He berated her, as if his hand hadn't been the one to throw the boy, as if it was all her fault for not stepping in, as if he'd have listened to her if she tried. "Even if he understood what he saw, we should have been able to frighten him into silence. If the boy should wake and tell his father - "

"If if if," Jaime sidled into his lap, pushing her own guilt away inside. She was not one prone to panic. "If he wakes, we'll say that the fall addled his brains, and should worse come to worst, we'll kill Ned Stark," What was done was done, and like it or not, there was no point arguing over things they could not change. Although Jaime would rather not kill Stark, if she could help it. He was one of the few men she actually liked.

"And then what do you imagine Robert will do then?" Cersen demanded.

"Let Robert do as he pleases. I've killed one king, why not another?" _It would truly be a pleasure to stick a sword in his chest_. The whole journey to Winterfell, Robert had been taking full advantage of Stannis' absence, leering and groping at her whenever possible, seeming not to care that Ashara was there at all. And Jaime still remembered that night, years ago. _Slayer of one king, whore of another_. Those rumours stung the most, perhaps because there was actually some truth to them.

"Jaime, get off of me!" Cersen raged, struggling to shove her off his lap.

Instead she had kissed him. For a moment he resisted, but then his mouth opened under her, his hands went for her bodice, and for a time the Stark boy was forgotten. At least, until Jaime closed her eyes to sleep and it was her youngest son they were shoving to his death instead. 

*

"Gods, what happened to your arm?" Helia's eyes widened as Jaime entered the tent, dragging her eldest son by his wrist like a naughty child and ignoring his protests. Joffrey's other arm was bound up tightly in bloody bandages. The boy had stopped trying to milk the injury once they were out of sight of Cersen, knowing his mother would not have any sympathy whatsoever. Helia, on the other hand, was the most likely of his siblings to hear him out at least.

"I was attacked!" Joffrey exclaimed, face still red with anger. "Hit with clubs, threatened, set upon by wolves, and - "

"I heard you were beaten by the little Stark girl, Joff?" Arthur swaggered in after them, grinning as he cut his brother off. "She's _nine_ years old, the size of a wet rat, please tell me it's true," Jaime, no less angry than she had been in the audience with Robert, Cersen and Ned Stark, couldn't help but smile sharply. Helia raised an eyebrow.

"Oh it didn't happen quite like that," She clapped a hand tightly on her eldest son's shoulder, preventing him from storming off. "Joff decided that cutting up a butcher's boy armed with a stick was a fine way to impress his cousin's betrothed, Lady Sansa," Gods only know why he was riding with the girl in the first place. "Lady Arya took exception to this, and tried to stop him, so he took a swing at her. With live steel," She had told Cersen not to give the idiot boy a proper sword, but as ever, her brother had dismissed her.

"Oh Joff, you didn't," Helia groaned. She might be the only one of them who tolerated Joffrey, but that didn't meant she suffered his nonsense.

"What if you'd hurt her?" Myrcella asked with narrowed eyes.

"She would have deserved it!" Joffrey protested angrily, trying to squirm away from Jaime, but she dug her fingers in. "The dirty little savage! How dare she attack me, I'm heir to Storm's End," Arthur gave a snort of disgust, and Steffon looked on in silent disapproval. Jaime was almost sorry that the little twins were with their nursemaid, or they'd surely be mimicking his voice by now.

"Perhaps not, if your father hears of this," She said dryly. It was a joke, but Joffrey turned to her in outrage. Thankfully Arthur spoke first.

"If only," He muttered, and her eldest son rounded on him.

"I am the eldest!"

"I wish Orryn was," Arthur fired back. "He's a better sword than you, cleverer than you, bigger than you, and would make a better lord than you,"

"It's my _right_ ," Joffrey protested furiously. "No one can take that away, not even Father!"

"It's not just your right, you insolent pup," Jaime lost her patience. "It's also your responsibility. High lords have more of those than most. Not swinging a sword at the daughter of the Warden of the North is a rather crucial one. You say it's your right, yet all I see is a cruel, arrogant, reckless _boy_ who is not up to the job. And I'm your mother. What do you think everyone else sees?" Joffrey flushed an angry shade of red, starting forward, and for a moment Jaime truly thought he would strike her. Clearly so did Arthur, who stepped forward with an indignant exclamation, but she raised a hand and both of them stopped.

There was a tense silence.

"How did your arm get hurt?" Myrcella asked innocently, but Jaime could see when her daughter was winding her brother up. When Joffrey didn't speak, Jaime answered for him.

"Lady Arya's direwolf did not like her mistress being threatened," She gave a short, unsympathetic laugh. "You're lucky that a warning bite is all you got,"

"That beast should have been turned into a pelt," Joffrey muttered sulkily. "The other one too. Yet you sent them both off home with a pat on the head,"

"Why should I kill the wolf, when the fault was yours?" Jaime shrugged. Cersen had demanded that both direwolves be slaughtered as punishment, but she had gone against him and suggested the beasts simply be sent back to Winterfell. Her brother would be angry with her for that, but she could deal with Cersen. Arya Stark had glared angrily at her as well - and likely would hate her from now on - but had said nothing, knowing that whilst it was unfair, it was better than death. At least the girl's father had looked grateful.

"Because I'm your son!" Joffrey snarled. _More's the pity_. "Does that count for nothing? You're meant to be on _my_ side, not with the wild little Stark bitch!"

"And had things happened the way you told it, I _would_ be on your side," Jaime gritted her teeth. "Had Arya Stark and the butcher's boy truly set upon you with clubs, stolen your sword and set the direwolf on you, then I would be the first to demand the boy whipped, the girl sent home in disgrace and the wolf killed. But I can't punish Lady Arya for not standing by and letting you gut her friend, Joff, that's not how it works. Loyalty is not unconditional, no matter what my brother's been telling you. No matter how many times you proclaim yourself a lord, if you act like a tyrant, people will turn on you,"

"Like you turned on the Mad King," Her son sneered. Jaime smiled sharply.

"Yes, exactly like that," There was a silence, then Joffrey gave one last sneer and left them.

"I wish you were there to shut him up more often, Mother," Arthur said, amused. "You should see him strutting around the Red Keep, like he's the crown prince himself,"

"Like you strut around the practice yard?" Myrcella asked with a grin. Helia laughed and Steffon smiled.

"Yes, but I'm actually _good_ at fighting," Her son said, though he grinned good-naturedly as well. "What's he good at, besides bullying servants and sucking up to Uncle Cersen and the king?"

"You shouldn't be so hard on him," Helia said, though she was half-laughing too. Jaime's eldest daughter showed compassion to the brother the rest of them scorned, but she wasn't blind.

"Someone has to be," Myrcella snorted. Jaime was inclined to agree. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's long I know, but believe it or not this was the cut down version. I wanted to get into how Jaime came to be where she is before I continued with her chapters from A Storm of Swords, as well as depicting her relationships with Stannis, Cersen, Ashara and her children. I hope all characterisations. are realistic, I always find it tricky writing Stannis in particular. Any improvements or constructive criticism is very welcome. Thank you for reading!
> 
> Just as a reminder:
> 
> Children of Jaime and Stannis (Joffrey and Myrcella are Cersen's): Joffrey (14), twins Orryn and Helia (13), Arthur (11), Myrcella (10), Steffon (8) and twins Argella and Roanna (5). Ages are from the start of AGOT.
> 
> Children of Robert and Ashara: Lyonel (died at 13), Maris (died at 10) and Cassana (4).
> 
> Children of Cersen and Lysa: Tychus (15), Joanna (14), Leila (13), Genalyn (7)


	3. Before II

Walking into Ashara's chambers, Jaime found them empty. 

"Where is the queen?" She rounded on the maid making the bed, a cold feeling of dread running through her veins. 

"I - I don't know, milady," The woman stuttered nervously. "Her Grace said she was going for a walk of the castle,"

It was a sunny morning, warm even for summer with scarcely a cloud in the sky, though the fine weather was ruined by the tragedy of the previous day.

Finally having enough of his father's insults and humiliations for being bookish, awkward and bad at fighting, Prince Lyonel had entered the Hand's tourney as a mystery knight. Somehow making it through the first tilt, his luck had run out on the second, where he ended up facing Gregor Clegane. Of course, the fool boy hadn't done his armour up properly, and a splinter from the Mountain's lance had pierced his throat. Through cries of alarm at the sight of such a deadly hit, the attendants had eased the mystery knight's helm off, only to be horrified at the sight of none other than the crown prince dying in the sand.

Jaime still remembered the terrible noise Ashara had made as she had practically leapt down the stairs, racing to her son's side. The queen had cradled his head in her lap, weeping horribly as the boy died in her arms, bleeding all over her lilac skirts as she screamed for the maester. Robert had been yelling something, the crowd was in uproar, and Jaime had hurried to her friend's side, in the end having to tear her away from the corpse of her only son so the body could be moved. 

The grief Ashara had never truly got over after Princess Maris' death had been doubled with the brutal killing of Lyonel. After the display at the tourney grounds, once they were away from it all, the woman had stopped crying altogether, and that worried Jaime the most. The only expression on her friend's face was one of deep sadness, too sad even for tears. She had scarcely spoken a word the whole night, which they spent on their knees in the sept in front of the Stranger's statue, her face a mask. Jaime had never been devout, and did not pray, rather watched her friend.

They had returned to Maegor's holdfast in the morning, and she had seen the queen to her chambers before entering her own to change her clothes quickly. But when she had returned, she found Ashara gone.

"Did she take anyone with her?" Jaime demanded the chamber maid. The woman hesitated. "Well?"

"No, milady, she - she sent Ser Meryn away. She said she wants time alone, to be at peace," Cursing, Jaime was already halfway out of the room, flying down the staircase and out of Maegor's as fast as her long skirts would allow, ignoring the looks from the guards.

"Lady Jaime," A voice, Ned Stark, called to her in bemusement as she ran past him in the yard, and she didn't even hesitate before grabbing his arm and pulling him along with her. "What are you - "

"The already unstable queen has vanished, alone and grieving terribly for her son," Jaime snapped at him. "Help me find - " She broke off, seeing a lone figure walking along the battlements on the eastern side of the keep. "There," She ran, and Stark did too, seeming to catch on as he barked orders at his guards.

As they approached her, Ashara did not turn around. She was stood between two of the crenellations, holding on with one hand, the sea breeze catching her dark hair and her dress. She still wore the bloody purple gown from the previous day.

"Your Grace," Stark called out sharply. "It is not safe up there, you must get down," Ashara turned and looked at him, her violet eyes dry but her beautiful face impossibly sad.

"Don't worry, Ned," She said softly. "I'm not scared of falling,"

"Ashara, get down," Jaime said, impatient in her concern, moving closer. "No more pretending, we all know you want to jump off the walls. What about your daughter, what about Cassana? Imagine her hearing how her mother killed herself, growing up miserable and motherless, with only Robert as a father,"

"She's better off without me," The queen said, looking out to sea again. "Maris... Lyonel... what kind of a mother am I, where two of my children don't make it past thirteen, and even more don't live past the crib? I've failed them, I've failed Arthur, I've failed you, Jaime. What kind of woman keeps silent about her husband raping her closest friend?" Jaime opened her mouth, feeling Ned Stark's hard eyes on her without even looking his way, but Ashara continued, voice soft and heartbreaking. "It hurts too much. I just want it to stop hurting,"

" _I'll_ hurt, if you do this," She found herself saying, voice more raw than it had been in years. "You're my friend. You can have more children, easily. You still have Cassana. Your living brother and sister, they'd grieve for you, and I knew Ser Arthur, I know he wouldn't want this, no matter what you'd done. Lord Stark would grieve for you,"

"Everyone would grieve," Stark agreed in a low voice. "Ashara, you can't truly believe that this is for the best?" Even he had dropped her title.

"Just come down, _please,_ " Jaime added. "You know I don't beg easily, but I am begging now," She gave a weak smile, which the queen returned, ever so faintly.

"I'm sorry," And then she leant forwards.

"No!" Jaime snatched at thin air, as Stark gave a similar yell beside her, both of them lunging forwards, only to see the slender purple figure crash into the rocks below, disappearing into the waves. They both stared in dead silence for a long moment, before looking at each other. She couldn't quite wrap her head around what had just happened. Ashara couldn't be dead, not when they'd just been speaking to her, seconds before. It was surreal, impossible, yet Jaime had just seen it with her own eyes.

"Gods," Stark's voice was scarcely more than a whisper, as the reality began to sink in. Jaime was silent in agreement. She felt her hands shaking, and for once didn't bother trying to conceal the horrified, wide-eyed look on her face. She hadn't been this shaken since she killed Aerys, and even then...

"My lord," Guards were just starting to reach them. "My lady, where is the queen?"

"Somewhere near the bottom of Blackwater Bay," Jaime snapped, face instinctively switching back to her usual mask as she turned back out to stare at the rocks below. _She's dead, she's dead, she's truly dead_.

She heard Stark talking to his men, then several minutes later felt his hand on her arm. It was a mark of how shocked she was that she let him guide her down the steps, and despite the solemn, cold look on his face, she felt his hands shaking too. He was a hardened battle commander, a soldier, who beheaded his criminals himself, but there was a difference between watching men die in battle, and seeing a broken woman jump to her own death. _Or is there more to it?_

He didn't speak to her and she didn't speak to him, merely escorted her to Maegor's Holdfast. Helia came to the door, and Stark left her in her eldest daughter's capable hands. Jaime was grateful he didn't try to talk, but the man was like her in that respect at least, preferring to keep any sadness close to his chest.

Jaime felt like an old woman as Helia wordlessly poured her a goblet of wine, and she took it without protest, draining it in one swallow.

She remembered walking those walls once, long ago, with Elia and Ashara. She was the youngest of the three, and the most foolish. She did not have Elia's quiet, gentle strength or Ashara's intelligent, alluring manner; Jaime was overconfident, golden and too reckless by half. How was it that she was the last of the three of them? She had always expected to die first, yet here she was, both her friends gone. _The Kingslayer, alive where both the Princess and the Queen are dead_. If that was not proof that being good did not save you in the end, she wasn't sure what was.

Unable to sit in her chambers for a minute longer, she got to her feet abruptly. Even in grief, she was hardly one to remain still for long. Jaime pulled on a pair of breeches under her skirts, tied her long hair back and left. Her daughter didn't question where she was going, knowing well enough already. 

She came across the knight as he left the White Sword Tower, a weary look on his face.

"I want to spar," Jaime said. "You have the time. There's only two royals left to guard, now," Ser Aredan didn't laugh, but she wasn't smiling.

"Fine," Sarsfield sighed, clearly recognising that she was in a dark enough mood to beat the shit out of him. "I'm due a match with you, anyway. I've been rather fortunate in the training yard lately; it wouldn't do for me to get cocky," Her lips curled at that, as he grabbed two tourney swords and they set off for the usual place.

When she had first met the knight, he had been eighteen, three years older than her, but seemed little more than a boy in Aerys' court. Despite his admittedly excellent skill with a sword, he was remarkably humble and servile, and Jaime had dismissed him as a spineless lickspittle within five minutes of talking to him. She supposed the years Ser Aredan had spent being one of the few men in King's Landing who would spar with her had improved her opinion of him slightly, along with the fact he was the only other soul who knew the true extent of Aerys' madness. After she had killed Aerys and Rossart - earning herself the name Kingslayer, and him the unfortunate moniker 'Ser Aredan the Unaware' for letting it happen whilst he held the city - he had spent the days after hunting down Belis and Garigus, the other pyromancers that knew of the king's insane plot.

The moment they were in the hidden courtyard, in a quiet wing of the castle with no windows overlooking it, she undid her skirts, not caring if they got dirty as they fell to the ground, revealing the breeches she wore underneath. She reached out to grab the sword Ser Aredan was already offering her, swinging at him immediately. He blocked her, attempting a slash of his own, but Jaime had already stepped easily out of the way. She felt her mind sink into the fight, poured all her focus into her footwork, the swing of her sword, her opponent's movements and how she could beat him.

What she _did_ like about Sarsfield was that he didn't hold back in any way because she was a woman; he had done so at first, but she had quickly irritated him out of it, as she did with most of the knights she sparred with. Being deliberately provocative, with merciless mocking and cruel jests designed to cut deep, was something Jaime excelled at. It certainly stopped her opponent pulling their blows, which was all she really wanted.

Ser Aredan the Unaware was one of the best swords she had fought against, despite his unflattering nickname, second only to Arthur Dayne. But Jaime was better. Despite her somewhat patchy education in swordplay, and relative lack of brute strength, she had speed, agility, fierce determination, recklessness and natural ability on her side, and, in any real fight, the element of surprise.

Her sparring with Sarsfield that day was brutal.

Just because she could block out thoughts of Ashara by focusing on swordplay, that didn't mean every single shit feeling didn't come out in the viciousness of her blows. Sarsfield more than held his own - he was hardly in a generous mood either, likely having been lectured along with the rest of the Kingsguard for letting the queen die - but Jaime won three matches out of every four they tried. After what had to have been a couple of hours, both of them were bruised, battered and sweating, a state that normally left her feeling exhilarated and satisfied, but today only made her feel hot, sticky and aching.

"Again," She raised her sword, only for Ser Aredan to shake his head.

"It won't help," He said, with a look of sympathy that she hated. "You could do this until you passed out from exhaustion, but she'd still be dead after. I lost my betrothed, as you know, that's why I joined the Kingsguard - "

"I hardly want to hear that sad tale of yours again, Sarsfield," She cut him off, wiping a lock of hair out of her eyes. "Pick up your sword and act like a man, for once, instead of a teary-eyed maiden," But he had grown so used to her cutting remarks over the years that he merely smiled sadly.

"Act like a woman, for once, and go and grieve,"

"This is me grieving," Jaime forced a sharp smile onto her face, but her tone still came across hollow. "Look at me, I'm fine. If I was in my chambers, all I would be thinking is that my closest friend threw herself over the battlements this very morning, but here," She waved her tourney sword. "I'm thinking exactly how far I'd like to stick this up your - "

"Ask yourself this," He spoke over her, moving closer. She raised an eyebrow, sword hanging loose in her grip at her side, only for him to dart forwards and grab her arm, wrenching the sword out of her hand even as she caught him with an elbow to the face. Jaime cursed him, as he fell back nursing a bleeding nose and clutching her sword.

"You're a funny man," She smiled her dazzling smile. "If you won't fight me, give that back so I can practice alone," He was six foot three, she wasn't going to humiliate herself trying to make a grab for it.

"After you near broke my nose?" He glowered at her. "Not a chance,"

"When did you grow a backbone?" Jaime shot him a glare. "It used to be you'd be falling over yourself to please anyone, _me_ in particular," When they'd first met, he could barely look her in the eye, and was constantly tripping over his words.

"It's my duty to serve," Ser Aredan shrugged. _He's a lickspittle, but an honest one at least_. "And I haven't fallen over myself to do _anything_ for you in a long time. Believe it or not, you can come across quite charming at first, even with all the cruel jests and blatant insults," He gave a faint grin. "I know better now,"

"Fall for the beautiful fifteen year old, and abandon her after she turns thirty and has eight children, is that how it is, Ser?"

"It didn't take nearly that long, my lady. I was already pitying Lord Stannis at your wedding feast," Jaime couldn't help it, she had to laugh at that, albeit a short one. Given the amount of compromising positions sparring often left you in - which knights scarcely noticed when they fought other men, but became painfully aware of when facing a woman - she could safely say that Aredan Sarsfield was one of the few men who wouldn't fuck her if he had the chance. 

Her black mood had never really left, but it quickly descended once more after she'd pulled her skirts back up over her breeches and untied her hair, returning to her chambers. Cersen was waiting for her outside, and Jaime felt the familiar stab of wanting when she saw him, which died fairly soon as she saw the look on his face.

"How could you let this happen?" He demanded of her immediately, following her inside. Jaime looked around, seeing Helia was sat by the window, not even pretending she wasn't listening in.

"Would you leave us for a minute?" She asked with a tight smile. Her daughter shot Cersen a dark look, but nodded, gathering her things and leaving. Jaime then rounded on her brother. " _Let this happen?"_

"You let that stupid bitch jump to her death!" Cersen snapped. "She wasn't like to have any more children at her age," _Thirty six, yes, she was practically a crone_. "It was perfect. Now Robert will surely marry again, likely that Tyrell whore, and sire gods know how many sons on a pretty young thing like her,"

"The way you sound," Jaime said in a forced careful tone. "It's as though I talked her into doing it,"

"That's what people are saying," Her brother waved a hand. "But you could've easily stopped - "

 _"That's what people are saying?"_ Her voice was steady but her words were spat out, grief swiftly turning to fury. "Who is saying that? I'll show them I don't need words to send anyone to their deaths," The worst of it was, she didn't even need to ask why. Most of the realm saw her as the bloodthirsty madwoman who had killed Aerys and laughed about it, or the whore who had seduced him and stabbed him in the back.

"Many think you helped kill the queen so you could seduce Robert and weasel your way into becoming queen," Her brother scoffed, like the matter was of no consequence. "As if you'd have the wits. It matters not. Robert cannot be allowed to marry again..." He carried on talking, but she rage pounding in her ears, drawing out his voice. "Jaime?" The sound of her own name caught her attention, as well as her brother sharply grabbing her arm. "Are you even listening to me?"

"No," She snapped, hardly caring as his face twisted in anger as she stood on her tiptoes, pressing her lips to his in a forceful kiss. Cersen, though caught off guard, returned the kiss just as hungrily, but then broke away as her hands moved lower.

"Jaime, don't be foolish," He said. "It's the middle of the afternoon. Anyone could walk in,"

"I'll come to your rooms tonight," She moved to kiss him again, but he grabbed her chin, stopping her, forcing her to look up at him.

"Not tonight," Her brother replied dismissively. "Thanks to this mess, which _you_ could have averted, I have too many things to be done. Come the night after," Jaime laughed then, rather bitterly, moving to change out of the clothes she had worn to train in. He narrowed his eyes. "Why are you wearing that face?"

"Just leave, Cersen," She slid off her overskirts. "I couldn't give less of a shit if Robert took three more wives and sired a dozen trueborn sons," 

"You - " He started angrily, but she was starting to unlace her shift. For once, her brother listened to her and left, likely because he didn't want to get caught in the same room as his half-naked sister; he definitely would have stayed to argue his point otherwise.

Jaime stared at herself in the looking glass as she redressed, still able to hear her own heartbeat in her ears. Ashara had been sad for a long time, but she wouldn't have jumped if Lyonel hadn't died. It was awfully convenient, that the heir to the Iron Throne had died less than a year after his sister, considering Cersen had been desiring that outcome for years. But how could he have orchestrated Lyonel's death? No one knew that the prince was even competing, no one would ever have guessed, given how he hated crowds, attention and any sort of physical activity. But the fact remained that her brother was one with the most to gain from the event, and Jaime couldn't quite get that thought out of her head. 

She spent the rest of the day with her children, the four girls and Steffon, at least. The little twins' nursemaid seemed glad to be relieved of their care for several hours, as Jaime dismissed the woman until dinner, only to regret that decision five minutes later when Helia gave an angry exclamation, a lock of her dark hair in Argella's fist, an eating knife in the other.

"Little menace!" Her eldest daughter swatted at her sister, who was laughing as she darted out of the way, unabashed.

"Give me that," Jaime snatched the knife out of the five-year-old's hand, giving her a sharp slap on the wrist in reprimand. Argella looked more amused than upset.

"Are they too young to send to the Silent Sisters?" Helia gave both twins a dark look.

" _No_ , Helia, you wouldn't be so cruel," Myrcella exclaimed dramatically, drawing both girls close to her with a grin. "They're good children really, aren't you?" She looked at each of them, and they both nodded innocently. Steffon looked up from his book.

"They're more like demons than children," Her youngest son said, with such a serious face for an eight year old that Jaime had to crack a smile. 

"We _are_ good children," Roanna stuck her tongue out at him.

"Mother loves us most," Argella added.

"Where did you get that idea?" Jaime raised an eyebrow, and Helia laughed.

It was after dinner that the nursemaid came to take away the twins, who were blessedly tired and didn't protest overmuch. Helia and Myrcella returned to their shared room after both hugging her, whilst Jaime saw Steffon to his own.

"I'm sorry about Queen Ashara, Mother," Her son said as he climbed into bed. "I hope you're not so sad tomorrow," Of all the things anyone had said to her that day, those words, delivered quietly but so sincerely, were the ones that brought her closest to tears.

"Thank you, dear," She pressed a kiss to Steffon's forehead, voice soft like it rarely was, even around her children. "Though it's not for you to be sorry about," Everyone compared the boy to Stannis, given they looked alike and were both quiet, surly and suspicious of people, but her son was gentle in a way she doubted her husband had ever been.

Jaime returned to her own chambers to find Ned Stark waiting outside. She did not like that she was glad he was not Cersen.

"A word," The man said shortly. "It won't take long,"

"Of course," She gave him an odd look, but showed him inside. No one had cleared up from earlier, so there were still several of the twins' dolls scattered about the floor.

She sat, and gestured for him to do the same. Stark looked exhausted. He hadn't changed out of the clothes he had worn that morning, and had no doubt been the one to deliver the news to the king, likely spending much of that day dealing with the king's black mood too. Robert had not loved his queen, but Ashara's death, only a day after losing the crown prince, was enough to send anyone into a spiral, and that man hardly needed any excuse.

"What did Ashara mean, about Robert - and you?" Lord Stark asked her. His expression was hard and cold as ever, but weary. _So that's why you're here_.

"Haven't you heard, Stark?" Jaime bared her teeth in some grim semblance of a mocking smile, though it lacked her usual bite and was completely humourless. "I'm a wanton woman, a highborn whore. No doubt I seduced his Grace, my dear friend's husband, my wickedness leading him to sin. He's normally such a chaste man, after all,"

"Just answer," He said flatly. "I'm tired of games," She sensed a distraction was needed, continuing like she hadn't heard him.

"I even heard a rumour that I'm your bastard's mother," She had laughed when she had heard that one, but laughing right now seemed impossible. 

"What?" The distraction worked. Stark glared angrily, but not at her. "How does - The timelines don't even - " He seemed to become conscious then that they were alone in her rooms in the late evening. _That's more likely to damage your reputation than mine, my lord_.

"No need to go so red, we both know it's not true, as does anyone with half a brain," Jaime shrugged. "Unless you've been making up stories of our sordid adventures, but you hardly seem the type,"

"I'll punish any man I hear saying such lies," Stark grumbled. Despite herself, she smirked faintly.

"You needn't bother yourself. People will talk regardless. I'm quite used to them assuming that because I spoke to a man once, I must have slept with him too. No wonder your wife doesn't like me,"

Stark was silent for a moment, assessing her. Then he finally spoke.

"What did Robert do to you?" Jaime cursed inwardly. _He's not as stupid as you'd expect_. "I just spent the entire day with him, and I couldn't forget what Ashara said,"

"Ashara exaggerated," Normally she would've laughed in his face, given another non-answer, but gods, Jaime was just fucking tired. Her friend had thrown herself to her death in front of her, how much worse could things get in one day? "Most wouldn't consider what he did to be rape,"

"But you do," At his words, she had to smile wryly. _Fuck it. Fuck it all._

"It was after a feast, and our noble king was drunk," She said. _When is he not_. "Not that badly, mind. To give you an idea of _my_ state at the time, I was slumped gracefully against the wall in a corridor, too drunk to even walk to my rooms," That had been after an argument with Cersen, who wanted her to bear another of his children. Jaime loved her brother, but Joffrey had been a mistake, a terror even at four, and she wanted no more children like that. "Robert stumbled into me, muttered some shit about me being the most beautiful woman in Westeros, and kissed me. The state I was in, I was barely conscious enough to recognise what he was doing, but I struggled anyway, weakly. Even if he had noticed, I doubt he'd have stopped," She paused. "He had me on my back in the nearest guest chamber when Ashara walked in,"

Stark's expression was not so different to how it normally was, but Jaime saw the tightness in his jaw, his narrowed eyes and frowning mouth. _He looks... angry?_ That was odd. To most, that situation would have been her fault.

"She saw?" His tone was sharp.

"Oh yes," Jaime nodded. "I've never seen her so furious," She laughed then, bitterly. "She slapped Robert so hard I'm surprised he didn't lose a tooth, then looked at me, the drunken woman she caught in bed with her husband, with kindness, understanding,"

"She always was kind," Stark said lowly. Jaime hummed in agreement.

"You are too," Perhaps she had drunk too much that day as well. He just stared at her, and she smiled faintly. "You haven't called me a whore, yet. That's more than I was expecting," He frowned.

"Why would I - " He broke off, seeing the look on her face, and changed the subject. "Did Robert try it again?"

"He pretended it never happened," Which was rather amusing. "I think he was ashamed," It hadn't stopped Jaime carrying a knife everywhere she went, though, even when she wasn't in King's Landing. With a knife, she was the Kingslayer, dangerous, half-mad, and most importantly, able to beat most men; unarmed, she was just another defenceless woman. "Perhaps it didn't live up to his fantasies. I was half a corpse that night for all the life in me, hardly at my best," There was another long silence.

"He's not the man I knew," Stark said eventually, heavily, then amended that. "Thought I knew. His daughter dies of a sickness, and he orders a hunt. His son dies in a joust, and he has the rest of the tourney postponed, for a week. His wife throws herself from the walls, and I just left him in the company of several whores,"

"Did the honourable Ned Stark not feel like taking one for himself?" She raised an eyebrow. She was joking, and he seemed to realise that, for though he did not smile, a flash of weak amusement crossed his eyes.

"No, my lady, I did not," He said firmly. _Instead you came here_. Another silence. "If we'd been quicker," He started. "If we hadn't tried talking first - "

"Then she'd have jumped a minute sooner," Jaime stared at her hands. "Or if not, I'd have found her tomorrow, the next day, dead from downing a bottle of sweetsleep," He had no answer to that. "She'd been sad for a long time. Since Maris, since Ser Arthur, even," Jaime looked at Stark carefully. "She told me in secret, years ago, that she had a child before marriage. A stillborn girl, conceived at Harrenhal, though the identity of the father she kept to herself. I was there that night, Stark. I saw your brother approach her, but it was you she danced with,"

"Brandon asked her on my behalf," His eyes were dark. "I'll admit my brother had an... appetite for women, but he wouldn't have gone after the only one I - " He broke off, looking away, and Jaime raised an eyebrow.

"It's true, then," She said. When Stark didn't reply, she smiled slightly. "Robert and Ashara were hardly the best match. He fucked her closest friend, and she, well," It didn't need spelling out. The look on the man's face said enough. Jaime wanted to asked him where his bastard in Winterfell had come from, given that Ashara's daughter was meant to have died, but in an uncharacteristic display of tact, decided against it.

"Ashara was Robert's wife," Stark's voice was slightly hoarse, but firm. "And Catelyn is mine,"

"Oh, I don't doubt it _,"_ Jaime was sure that this man had not even looked at Ashara in that way since she became queen, refused to even consider it. And from what she had seen in Winterfell, he did truly care for his Tully wife. She doubted he had spent the last fifteen years dreaming of Ashara Dayne, but that surely hadn't eased the sight of her throwing herself into the sea earlier that day.

There was another silence. 

"She - Ashara - said once that you seemed quite taken with her brother," He said carefully. Jaime smirked.

"I was," She said. "Ser Arthur taught me _so_ many things," He raised an eyebrow at that, and she had to laugh. "He gave me lessons in swordplay, Stark. _Steel_ swords, get your mind out the gutter. I was taken by his ability as a knight, not his pretty face," Stark, surprisingly, didn't scoff.

"My sister would have given anything to learn to fight,"

"No wonder Robert likes me so much, then," She said dryly. "I sparred with Arthur Dayne, but I was fighting long before then," She smiled slightly. "Cersen hated swordplay when he first started. We looked identical at six, so I took his place. He sat in my septa's lessons, in my dresses, being taught embroidery for two years, whilst I learned to swing a sword,"

"Cersen Lannister, learning to sew wearing his sister's dresses?" Stark was clearly trying to keep a straight face, but failed, shaking his head. Jaime grinned faintly. _Stannis Baratheon, Eddard Stark... two of the most grim-faced men in the kingdom, and I've made them crack... three, if you count my father_. "I shall have to keep that out of mind the next time I have to sit through a small council meeting, my lady, or your brother might wonder why I can't take him seriously," It was an amusing image, the solemnHand of the King chuckling to himself as Cersen went off on one of his rants.

"Ashara was giggling for weeks in front of him when I told her that," Her smile faded. "I hadn't seen her truly smile in months, you know. She should never have come to this place. The two of us are likely the only two people in the castle who even care she's dead. Robert will take another wife within the year, and Cassana won't even remember her," Jaime could barely recall her own mother's face, and she had been twice the princess' age when Lady Joanna had died.

"If Robert dies without a son, that could easily make you queen," He said, and there was something in his tone that made her pause, but she ignored it, for now.

"Robert has a daughter," She replied.

"This time last year he had two daughters," His grey eyes seemed to stare right through her. "Two days ago he had a son. This morning, he had a wife," Jaime swallowed. 

"I want to take the princess to Storm's End," She had made up her mind the moment Lyonel breathed his last. "I'll be going there soon with my children anyway. Cassana should come with us, away from this place," She fixed Stark with a meaningful look that she hoped he was bright enough to understand. 

"And is there any reason why the princess should not remain here, with her father?" He understood, the bastard, but would make her spell it out. _He suspects, but isn't sure_. 

"Like Robert gives a shit about her," Jaime laughed hollowly. "Cassana will be safe in Storm's End. She knows me, she's friends with my daughters. And surely it would just be cruel to keep her in the castle where her mother died," That was all true, and Jaime likely would have asked for this even if Cersen and his plots weren't worrying her.

"My lady," Stark leaned forward, lowering his voice. "If your brother has threatened you into silence, then - "

"Cersen hasn't threatened me," She cut him off sharply, narrowing her eyes. Jaime might be suspicious of her brother, but that didn't mean she would betray him. He hadn't threatened her, besides. "I simply don't want my friend's daughter to be all alone in this place," Stark's stare was unrelenting, so she changed tactics. "If you won't help me, I'll have to go straight to Robert, and if he says no, then I'll have to persuade him," She smiled mockingly, leaning forward herself to give him a good view of her low-cut gown, letting her voice turn suggestive. "Do you need persuading, my lord?" Jaime laughed at the look on his face. "Everyone thinks me a whore no matter what I do, I might as well reap the benefits of acting like one," Impressively, the man's eyes never left her face.

"There's truly no need," His expression was cold but his tone was softer. "I'll bring your suggestion to the king," Her mocking smile faded and she leaned back once more.

"You won't regret it," Jaime nodded, intending thanks even if she didn't say it. "Once Robert agrees, we'll be gone within the week. My husband will welcome us with open arms, I'm sure," Her tone was sarcastic. 

"My lady, I thought you'd have already known," Stark frowned, and she raised an eyebrow. "The king received word earlier today. Lord Stannis is riding up the Kingsroad as we speak,"

*

If Jaime was honest, she would have avoided speaking to her brother for a good few days, her anger at his words the day Ashara died still fresh in her mind, along with the growing suspicion that he might have had something to do with Prince Lyonel's death. But Stannis' approaching arrival was bothering her. It wasn't often that her husband visited court, and he was hardly one to comfort his grieving older brother. And then there was the issue that Baratheons seemed to be dropping like flies lately and no one seemed to think anything of it. 

Cersen was in far too good a mood when she entered his chambers the next day.

"You look beautiful, sister," He said the moment he saw her. 

"I thought you were furious with me," Jaime raised an unimpressed eyebrow. "I should have caught the queen as she fell into Blackwater Bay, remember?"

"Robert remarrying is not a concern anymore," Her brother said with a smile, ignoring her sarcasm. "Having thought on the matter, I now realise how insensitive I must have sounded. I apologise, dear sister - the small council meeting yesterday morning had been rather stressful. What a truly tragic thing it is that the crown prince and the queen are dead," _That might be almost considerate, if a single word was sincere_. 

"Yes," She smiled without any humour. "Very unfortunate. Lyonel dead. Maris dead. Now the only one standing in the way of Joffrey being heir to the throne is a four year old girl," _And Stannis_. Perhaps this line of questioning was unwise - had it concerned anyone but her closest friend, she likely wouldn't have cared enough to bother - but she couldn't leave this be. 

"I don't know why you're being so ridiculous about this, Jaime," Her brother shook his head, sitting down on the bed. "Maris was weak and died of a chill, Lyonel died in a tragic accident. Yet you talk like I arranged it all on purpose?" Jaime had to laugh at that. The number of times she'd heard him rant and rage that his precious Joffrey should be heir to the throne, and he was still pretending, still lying. _I might not share your ambition, brother, but I'm not a lackwit_.

She didn't bother arguing the point. He wasn't going to answer, which was proof enough. At his expectant stare, she simply moved to sit in his lap, more out of habit than anything else. Automatically Cersen's arms closed around her, his lips moving to her neck, but Jaime kept her face turned away.

"And Cassana?" She asked, and he paused, the hand that had been tangled in her hair tightening. "Will she suddenly suffer a fall down the stairs, or come down with a deadly fever?"

"The princess is young," His tone was light, amused even. "Her sister was frail and she's recently lost her mother. Children die all the time. It won't be my fault, surely," Jaime tensed at that.

"I'll take her back to Storm's End," She said. "My girls were going back anyway. I'll tell Robert that it's best for her to be with girls her own age, away from the place her mother died in. He'll listen to me, he doesn't care enough about her to oppose sending her away, particularly now Renly's trying to force the Tyrell girl down his throat,"

"Robert will not marry Margaery Tyrell," Cersen's grip in her hair tightened almost painfully, pulling her head back so she was forced to stare up at him. "Nor any other whore his brother tries to slip into his bed. He will have no more children and you, dear sister, will not take the princess _or_ your own daughters away from here,"

"Won't I?" She gave a strangled laugh, breathing heavily and trying to sit back up, but he kept her where she was, other arm closing like a vice around her waist. "What power do you have over me, Cersen? I'm Lady Baratheon, not Lady Lannister,"

"What power do I have over _you?"_ Her brother sneered. "Look at you. Even if I wasn't holding you here, you'd let me fuck you," He roughly pressed his lips to hers, holding her chin in a bruising grip as she tried to turn away. "You're mine, Jaime, and you know it," He turned them so she was underneath him on the bed, one hand holding her arms above her head as she struggled and the other still grasping her face. 

Jaime stopped trying to get away then, and laughed up at him instead, which she knew he would hate.

"Cersen," She started. It was meant to be defiant, mocking, but then his eyes darkened, and his lips were on hers again, his weight on top of her, one hand sliding her skirts up, and despite herself, Jaime gasped at his touch, as she always did. 

Without realising, she found herself returning his kisses fiercely, hungrily, moaning as his hand moved none too gently between her legs. That didn't last long, however, before he pushed her thighs apart and pushed into her roughly, making her gasp every time he moved, his lips on her neck, hands in her hair, at her throat, touching her face. She wrapped her legs around his waist, and it wasn't long before he was finished. He climbed off her, leaving her panting, wanting, and smirked down at her.

"You won't move against me," He stroked her face. "You love me, and I love you. We're two halves of the same whole, Jaime, you know that," She turned her head away, suddenly wanting to slap that stupid smile off his face. "I must go. There's a small council meeting, and I need to keep an eye on Stark,"

The only thing keeping her from smashing the mirror on the wall was the knowledge that Stark would have had time to talk to Robert by now. _That girl is coming with me whether you like it or not, brother_. Perhaps that was why people enjoyed the plots and intrigue she normally had no time for; the secret knowledge that they were getting one-up on someone that dearly deserved it. 

Jaime straightened her skirts, combed through her hair with her fingers and returned to her rooms. Her older children were in lessons, but she collected the little twins, and Princess Cassana from her nursemaid, sitting cross-legged on the floor and absently watching them play together, not joining in overmuch herself. The princess was a lot more subdued than usual - someone had evidently told her that her mother wasn't coming back - and there was one episode of tears, but, being four years old, she was distracted from her grief fairly easily as the twins pretended to be knights, with Cassana playing the fair maiden they rescued. 

"Lady Jaime, Lady Jaime," The princess tugged at her skirts, bringing her out of her thoughts. "Can I wear your necklace? I want to be pretty like you," Jaime had to smile.

"You hardly need a necklace for that," She unclasped the golden chain anyway, delicate emeralds falling from it like rain. "Here," She swept Cassana's dark hair out of the way and carefully fastening it around her neck. It was designed to be worn with a low neckline, so hung down almost to the small child's waist, but the princess was delighted. With her black hair and blue eyes, she could have been one of Jaime's own daughters unless you looked close enough to find traces of Ashara in her face.

Then the door slammed abruptly open. Cersen stormed in, casting a disdainful eye to the children but striding over to Jaime, but she was already on her feet, swiftly moving between him and the children. 

"How _dare_ you?" Her twin hissed, grabbing her arm roughly. 

"I suppose Robert agreed, then,"

"How did you get Stark on your side?" He snarled, shaking her. "He hates our house," _No, he hates you and Father_. "Did you fuck him, is that it?" 

"I'm glad you think so highly of me," She smiled sharply, wrenching her arm away. "Of _course_ I didn't, Cersen, have you lost your mind?"

"You think you're so clever," Cersen was clearly furious. "Is this to spite me? Some petty attempt to prove you won't just lie back and let me - " He broke off, glancing down - the twins had just grabbed onto Jaime's skirts, one on either side, peering up at him with wide eyes - and seemed to remember then that there were not alone. His lip curled in slight disgust, as it always did when seeing her Baratheon children, particularly Roanna, whose eyes were emerald green rather than blue.

"I've never thought myself clever," Jaime spoke before he could continue, putting a hand on each of her daughter's shoulders. "That's always been you, brother, yet you don't ever _listen_. I've told you, again and again, that I want no part in whatever madness you are planning. It was easy to ignore when you were simply talking out of your arse, but you've gone too far,"

" _I've_ gone too far?" He laughed at her. "You're the one betraying your family for _Eddard Stark_ ,"

" _I've_ betrayed my family?" Jaime laughed. _I was a sister to Tyrion when all you and father did was be cruel. I married a high lord and bore eight children, where you would have had me become a septa. I am trying to ensure your madness doesn't cause the kingdoms to fall into war_. "Can you truly hear yourself, Cersen?" He opened his mouth, so she continued pointedly. "Have you forgotten there's three children here, and none of them are particularly good at keeping their mouths shut,"

"Then you'd better teach them," The threat in his eyes made her own narrow. 

"Careful, brother," _I love you, but not more than my children_. She had never said that aloud, knowing he would loathe it, but it was something she had realised long ago. Cersen just sneered nastily at her darker tone. 

"I remember the days when you swore you'd never be a mother," He said. "Now you've deluded yourself that those mewling Baratheon brats are worth your time and effort," With that he left, slamming the door. _Jealous of a four year old girl, is that it?_

"I don't like Uncle Cersen," Roanna declared stoutly. 

"He's horrible, even though he looks like you," Argella agreed. 

"And I'm not horrible?" Jaime asked.

"No. Only sometimes," The girl shrugged, struggling for words. "You're _Mother_ ," As though that explained everything. It was nice that someone had some level of faith in her at least. 

*

Stannis rode through the gates looking thinner than he had been when Jaime had last seen him, rather hollow and pale. They had received word the previous day that Lord Baratheon had been suffering from sickness after eating a bad seafood stew at an inn, and hadn't been able to keep down much food for five days of their journey. Jaime would have taken that as a worryingly suspicious sign already, had a dozen of the men he had brought with him from Storm's End not been suffering from the same problem, and were slowly starting to recover. 

"My lady," Her husband greeted her, stern as ever, offering his arm as they followed went inside. She was wearing a very fine, low-cut dress in black velvet - most had stopped grieving the queen soon after her funeral, but Jaime was not done yet, and dressed accordingly - embroidered with delicate gold patterns, and her hair was loose down her back. She rather enjoyed dressing up for her husband, seeing how much it took to get a reaction. It was different with Cersen, who looked at her like he looked at his own reflection. 

"You look somewhat queasy, my lord," She feigned innocence as she fell in step beside him. "Though dinner tonight should cheer you up. I've had the cooks prepare a delicious plate of oysters and clams," Stannis gave her a dark look. 

"I see you still find yourself amusing," 

"Ah, but you enjoy being a scold," She laughed. "You'd be bored without me to grind your teeth at," He said nothing to that, which said everything. 

Her husband seemed to have recovered from his bout of sickness, though his appetite was clearly not back in full. At dinner that evening, Stannis picked his way through the first course, leaving much on his plate, though drank a lot from the nearest pitcher on the table. It was almost certainly water, of course; in near fifteen years of marriage, Jaime had never seen him drink a drop of wine. She hoped it was water, as most of the children were filling their cups from the same one. 

Jaime had had a bad feeling about this meal from the start. Not only were they dining with Robert and their children, but Cersen as well, along with Ned Stark and his two daughters. It seemed like a recipe for disaster, though she figured that even Cersen wouldn't go so far as to poison food that she and her children - including Myrcella and Joffrey - could easily eat from, given they were all being served from the same plates. Jaime still was slightly uneasy, however, more so when Joffrey never turned up to eat.

But she couldn't help but relax slightly as the evening went on. Arya Stark was eagerly questioning Arthur about swordplay, Helia was conversing with Lord Eddard and her father, Myrcella was teasing Steffon for not eating his beets and even Cersen was being surprisingly diplomatic and not causing too much strife. Jaime sat between her husband and her brother, and as Cersen was not speaking to her after their argument two weeks ago, she found herself talking to Stannis, or across the table to Robert and Stark. 

Stannis grew more and more quiet the later it got. That was hardly an unusual occurrence - Jaime knew her husband had little love for conversation, or for food, or for interacting with Robert and Cersen at the same time - and she largely ignored it, until she noticed how tightly he was clenching his eating knife halfway through the third course, knuckles white. 

"Are you trying to break that in half?" She cast an amused look his way. It was a throwaway comment, perhaps somewhat irritating but hardly enough to warrant the angry look he gave her. 

"Shut your mouth, woman," The unusually harsh reply was ground out through a clenched jaw. Jaime blinked in surprise for a moment, then switched on her sharp smile. 

"You're not normally one to speak to me like that," She tilted her head, letting a note of mocking slip into her voice. "Is this what you're like drunk?" But it wasn't wine making him so full of rage; as predicted, a quick glance into his cup showed only the usual clear water. 

"I'm not _drunk_ ,"He spat out, tone far too aggressive for what had been said. By now, others had noticed his raised voice. 

"Drunk?" Robert's face lit up for a moment, as he grinned. " _Stannis?_ Never thought I'd see the day," Jaime saw her husband's face darkening as the king gave a loud laugh. This late in the evening, Robert was well into his cups. 

"You fat, drunken fool," Stannis glared at his brother, and Jaime had to laugh, eyes wide in amused incredulity as she glanced at Helia and Arthur. "You'd rather I join you in eating, drinking and whoring your way into an early grave, whilst this golden-haired pit-viper plots and schemes his way around your court?" He shot Cersen a hateful look. _Gods, where did that come from?_

There was a shocked silence. Robert clearly recognised that he was perfectly serious, not that Stannis ever joked, and his bleary eyes narrowed, the famous Baratheon temper roused. 

"You'd speak to your king in this way? _You?"_ He sneered at his brother _._ "You've always had such a large stick up your arse - " 

"Robert," Stark said warningly, glancing at Stannis, but Robert didn't listen. 

" - it's a wonder you had all those children, you miserable bastard. Why Lady Jaime hasn't grown sick of your sour, stony face and - " What Jaime had or hadn't done went unsaid, as Stannis kicked his chair back and got to his feet abruptly, fists clenched at his side. Robert, once more, did not take the hint, laughing loudly. 

"Are you going to hit me, little brother?" He staggered to his own feet. "All these years grinding your teeth in anger, and you choose now to stand up to me like a man, rather than a walking statue? I might be fat, but I could still knock you on your arse - " Stannis' large fist swung back and collided with Robert's jaw with a sickening crack, to cries of alarm and surprise. Sansa Stark looked horrified, whilst Arya was grinning. Arthur was too, and Myrcella. Jaime let out a shocked laugh, wondering how exactly they had got to this point but enjoying the show nonetheless. 

Robert was on his feet in an instant, a vivid bruise already blooming on his face, but fury in his eyes. 

"What in the seven fucking hells was _that?"_ He roared, but Stannis was already moving towards him again. Jaime rushed forward. She had enjoyed watching Robert get punched in the face immensely, but didn't particularly want her husband dragged away in chains the first night he was here, when she was still arguing with Cersen. 

"Don't say another word," She gave Robert a sharp look, getting in between the two men - perhaps not the best idea, but she wasn't known for those - and grabbing her husband's raised arm. "Stannis, he deserved that, I won't deny it, but as much as I'd love to see you do it again, I can't imagine you'd enjoy spending the night in the cells," Stannis fixed his gaze on her now, and for a split second she saw the look in his eyes - anger, pure anger and chilling hatred, come out of nowhere - before a large pair of hands wrapped around her neck and slammed her into the nearby wall. 

She heard the exclamations from everyone around her, but all Jaime was aware of was the pain in the back of her head, her husband's hands around her neck as he attempted to squeeze the life out of her, that furious, _mad_ look in his eyes, barely inches from hers. She struggled, kicking out with the pointed boots she wore and trying to break his grip with her clawing fingers, but he barely seemed to feel her blows. She tried going limp, becoming a deadweight, which had worked in several sparring sessions, but he was strong enough to hold her up regardless. 

"You - treacherous - _whore_ ," Stannis practically spat in her face, despite the dozens of faceless hands shouting, attempting to pull him off her. Jaime's eyes widened at his words. "You - you - Joffrey, and Myrcella - your _bloody_ brother - " Her blood froze in her veins, but thankfully she didn't have to come up with a convincing bemused expression given that she was being strangled. She could see he was about to say more, and found she didn't really care as her vision started to go, but then the hands around her throat were ripped away.

Jaime took a huge, rasping breath, falling against the wall as Arthur and Helia rushed to her side. Stannis was being held back by Robert, Cersen and Stark, yet even the three of them, strong men all, were struggling to restrain him as he kept fighting. Stark had a black eye, Robert a bleeding nose. She clutched at her throat, feeling the air rush into her lungs, her legs weak and unsteady and her head spinning. Half the room was yelling, someone was crying. _I've seen him angry before, he never acts like this.._. Though she had never told him she had made a cuckold of him with her own twin brother. If he had found out the truth, somehow, was it so unreasonable that he would act this way?

She didn't have time to consider that as, with a roar of rage, Stannis broke free and launched himself at her again - _why me, why not Cersen?_ \- and, unsteady as she was, Jaime didn't have time to move away from the vicious backhand to the face that sent her flying into the wall again. She recovered quicker this time, jumping out of the way as he lashed out again, seeing the glint of steel in his hand. Stannis had taken a knife from the table. 

"Gods!" She cursed, coughing, voice hoarse. "Have you gone mad?"

"Guards!" Robert was roaring. 

Stannis was like a raging bull, hardly the cold, measured fighter she knew, and Jaime was quicker, managing to join Stark and Cersen before he could get to her. Guards burst into the room - including Ser Boros Blount, though why he had not entered sooner was beyond her - and any sane man would have surrendered at the sight of all those swords and spears, but Stannis did not, charging straight at them armed with nothing more than an eating knife. _Madness, pure madness_. 

"I don't want him harmed," Robert's battlefield voice was heard over the din. 

"Take him to a secure room," Cersen might have said. 

"Father, stop!" Arthur was yelling, eyes wide at the sight of the guards surrounding the man, all of them hovering, rather unsure of what to do, no one willing to strike the king's brother first. Arthur's words caught Stannis' attention, and he flew at his own son now, knocking two guards aside, knife in hand. 

Jaime reacted instinctively, not stopping to think for a moment. Grabbing the nearest weapon she could see - a heavy candlestick from the table - she leapt forward and brought it down with all her strength on the back of her husband's head, before he could get to her son. Stannis dropped like a stone, falling to the floor with a loud thud, the knife clattering out of his hand.

There was a heavy silence. Jaime glanced to one corner, where all the children had backed into, save for Arthur and Helia, glanced around the room at all the other shocked faces, her own heart racing.

"What the _fuck_ was that?" The king demanded, breathing heavily from the exertion, his face red and sweaty, as the guards carried Stannis' unconscious form away. 

"That was no drunken rage," Stark was breathing heavily, but his tone was steady. "He wasn't even drinking,"

"It was just rage," It hurt for Jaime to speak. "The look in his eyes, he wanted to kill,"

"You?"

"Everyone in his line of sight," She said, then had to cough, which sent a stab of pain through her throat. 

"Mother, are you alright?" Myrcella asked shakily. 

"Fine," She nodded, suddenly realising that the back of her head felt rather warm. Upon bringing her hand up to touch it, it came away wet and sticky, red with blood where she'd been slammed into the wall. Her cheek hurt too, where it had been caught with that vicious backhand. 

"Jaime," It was Cersen who reached out, catching her arm and placing his own around her shoulder, genuine concern in his green eyes. At this, she forgot everything that had happened, for a moment, though quickly shook him off regardless. 

"Stop fussing like a mother hen, I'm not about to faint," Her rasping tone wasn't very convincing. She glanced around at all of them, sporting a various array of bruises, and her lip curled. "Stark looks like he took more blows than I did,"

"It was Ned that pulled him off you, my lady," Robert said, sitting down heavily and pouring himself a cup of wine. Jaime met Stark's eyes, pausing at the look she saw there. Then it came to her. _Treacherous whore_... _Joffrey, and Myrcella... your bloody brother_. Had he heard? Surely that alone wasn't enough to piece together the truth? 

"I suppose I should thank you," She said, putting the thought from her mind for now; if she felt uneasy, she would likely look it too, which wouldn't help anyone. Another rather sarcastic remark was on her lips, then she glanced over Stark's shoulder and saw Steffon, in Myrcella's arms, Helia nearby looking shaken but trying to keep a strong front up, Arthur pacing up and down the room. "Pray excuse me," Jaime smiled sharply, turning to her children. "On second thoughts, my head is rather painful. You four, help escort your decrepit mother to the maester," 

They needed no encouragement. Silently, her children followed her out of the room.

"Why did Father hurt you?" Steffon asked the moment they were out of earshot, his voice very small and confused. 

"He - " Jaime broke off, not truly knowing the answer herself, but suspecting what it had to do with. "He's been sick. Likely the sickness hasn't quite left him yet. Your father wasn't himself," Because he wasn't, regardless of what he'd found out. The Stannis she knew would have confronted her with proof of his accusations, and coldly decided her punishment there and then, speaking as though they were strangers. He certainly wasn't the type of man to kill his wife with his bare hands out of passionate anger. _He was still sick, that must be it, or the potions he's been taking had an adverse effect_. 

"But he was so _angry,"_ Myrcella said. "Why was he so angry? Eating a bad oyster doesn't make you go mad,"

"He wasn't angry," Arthur said shortly. "He goes cold and even more stern when he's angry, just glares and grinds his teeth," The boy would know, given he was always the one in the most trouble with their father, aside from Joffrey. 

"He does _not_ throw you across the room," Helia added sharply. All four of them were looking at her expectantly.

"I know as little as you do," Jaime had to say. "Pycelle will be with him, I'm sure. It could just be a fit of madness brought on by fever. When he wakes, likely he'll be improved," She didn't promise anything, knowing she couldn't keep it. 

Stannis did not wake. 

He was weakened by the bad stew, Grand Maester Pycelle declared; the lingering effects of that also caused the madness. Three more men had shown such uninhibited rage that night, all of them among those who had been ill on the journey from Storm's End. One had been killed after proving impossible to restrain, whilst the other two were wrestled into the cells, both falling unconscious with fever shortly afterwards. 

Her husband had developed a fever in his unconscious state, too, yet somehow those two other men woke later with no recollection of what had happened, where Stannis was dead within the day. The bad food had weakened him, but the blow to the head had made recovery impossible, Pycelle said. In other words, if Jaime had not hit him with the candlestick, he might have recovered like the others. 

Jaime tended to wear reds and golds and greens, yet of late she found that more often than not, her gown was entirely black. The deaths of Ashara and Lyonel, and now her husband's funeral. 

Most people blamed her for Stannis' death. She heard them whispering in corridors and staircases, saw the looks they gave her when they passed, in every room, in every hall. Those rumours that she had talked Ashara off the walls to seduce Robert had resurfaced, also. Even here, at the funeral, the whispers followed her. _Murderess, Kingslayer, whore, whore, whore_. Jaime ignored them, for she only cared for the opinions of her children. None of them seemed to blame her, at least, nor did anyone who had been there in that room, which was something, she supposed. They'd all been there to see it for themselves, after all, rather than relying on rumours and gossip.

The bruise on her face had bloomed a livid colour, though was starting to fade to green around the edges. The bruises on her neck were still purple-black and more than visible. She idly wondered what the whisperers made of that, then realised she didn't particularly care. 

The High Septon was droning on and on. Jaime wasn't listening. She knew the whole bloody spiel already, and simply stared at the corpse of her husband, unsure of how she felt to see it. All she could come up with presently was that there had been too many funerals in this city of late. 

She didn't cry. Her children were another matter. Myrcella was weeping quietly, there were tears in Helia's eyes even as she kept her face steady, and the eyes of Arthur and Steffon were glassy. The little twins were uncharacteristically silent and subdued, whilst Orryn stared resolutely ahead; her second son had raced up the Kingsroad to be there in time. Even Joffrey was causing no trouble. There had been no love lost between the boy and his supposed father, but he had always seemed to value Stannis' rare approval more than Cersen's constant fawning, even if he hid it well. 

_Lord Joffrey Baratheon_. That was his title now. Her cruel, impulsive son, not even fifteen yet, was now Lord Paramount of the Stormlands, and Storm's End was his. _Heir to the Iron Throne_. That hadn't been confirmed yet. It was uncertain as yet whether the throne would go to the king's daughter or his eldest nephew, if he died without another son. Jaime privately hoped that Joffrey would be betrothed to Cassana, tying the two claims together. Perhaps that would satisfy Cersen, and anyone who discovered the truth. 

In another life, perhaps she would have wanted a war to settle things for good, but now she found herself crippled by the only womanly fear she allowed herself to have; fear for her children. Sometimes Jaime thought things would be easier if she had never become a mother, a role she was not cut out for at the best of times, more likely to laugh at her children's misbehaviour rather than reprimand them. It would be simpler, she came to the conclusion, but would it be worth living? That, Jaime could not answer, but she did know that now she had them, she would not give up her children for the world. 

She watched from the battlements of the Red Keep as the corpse of Stannis Baratheon was borne south to Storm's End with an honour guard, to be buried in the crypts of the castle. The sky was overcast, thick grey clouds promising rain. 

Jaime had not loved her husband, but she hadn't disliked him either. They had argued, at times he had infuriated her, and he was hardly an engaging conversationalist, but she had not hated being married to him, despite her fears before her wedding. Oddly enough, the idea that she would never laugh at him again, never hear his teeth grinding, never see him sparring with their sons, was rather bleak. When he was alive, she took all that for a given, something she tolerated. Only now did she actually feel the loss. 

An arm wrapped around her waist.

"Is it a pleasant sight, sister?" Cersen murmured in her ear. "You're finally free of your stony-faced husband," Jaime rested her head on his shoulder.

"He knew something," She ignored his remark. "Before Stark tore him off me, he called me a whore and mentioned the children. Joff and Myrcella. And you," She felt her brother tense. 

"How could he know anything?" His voice was angry, but she heard the fear there. 

"Who knows," She shrugged. "It's not like it matters anymore," Cersen said nothing to that. Jaime's attention had returned to the horse-drawn bier, disappearing into the distance. Orryn was riding south with them. _He'd have made a better lord than Joffrey. Why couldn't he have been my firstborn?_

*

The morning after her husband's funeral, following a night with Cersen in her bed - where she hadn't been able to sleep even after her brother had fucked her several times before returning to his room in the early hours of the morning - a messenger had brought Jaime news of Tyrion. 

"Let me through," She snapped at the two northmen stood guarding the entrance of the Tower of the Hand.

"Mother, wait," She heard Helia behind her. "I know you're angry, but this is madness,"

"Oh shush, sister," Arthur's voice said darkly. "I wouldn't miss this for the world," Her third son had changed slightly since his father's death; not too much, but there was an edge there that had not been there before. She supposed that was what happened to everyone when they grew up. It had happened to her. 

"I must speak to the Hand, or whatever he is now," Jaime demanded, ignoring both her children. She had heard of Stark's argument with Robert earlier that day. The whole castle had. His men glanced at each other, one of them shrugging. _Of course, why would a grieving widow be any threat alone?_

"In his solar, Lady Baratheon, he's just got back - " Jaime strode through the door without listening to what else he had to say.

"Stark!" She yelled, voice echoing in the stairwell.

"Please, Mother, just stop for a moment and _think_ ," Jaime shook off Helia's hand from her arm, holding her black skirts out of the way as she jogged up the staircase.

"Lady Jaime," Ned Stark met her at the top of the stairs, and before he or any of the guards could react, she had slammed him into the wall, arm across his throat. He was stronger than her, of course, but she caught him by surprise, and there were several curses and chuckles amongst his men and Arthur, along with her own daughter's groan. Her battered hand ached, but she ignored it. "My lady, what are you - "

"I'm looking for my brother," She smiled sharply. "You remember Tyrion, don't you, Ned? He was with us at Winterfell. Fair-haired, mismatched eyes, sharp of tongue. A short man,"

"I remember him well," Stark replied, still looking down at her in bemused surprise, holding up a hand to stop the guards that had moved forward, presumably to pry her away. He did that himself, pushing her arm, firmly but not roughly away. She let him.

"It would seem he has met some trouble on the road. My lord father is quite vexed. You would not perchance have any notion of who might have wished my brother ill, would you?"

"Your brother has been taken at my command, to answer for his crimes," The man said. She narrowed her eyes at him.

"You're lucky I like you, Stark," She said. "It was your wife that took him. How would she have known in advance Tyrion would be where he was at that exact time? My guess is that she didn't, making it coincidence. In which case you're lying, to protect your precious Lady Catelyn,"

"My wife is not to blame," Stark insisted. "She's a good woman, she deserves no punishment,"

"The only good thing about Catelyn Tully is that she's not as irritating as her younger sister," Jaime laughed scornfully, stepping back, seeing Helia's grudging smirk at that and Arthur's grin; none of Jaime's children liked their aunt overmuch. Nor their uncle, for that matter. 

"Does your brother feel the same?" He asked sharply. "From what I hear, his treatment of Lady Lysa is poor indeed,"

"He cares not a jot for Lysa," Jaime admitted with a shrug. "She irritates him constantly. But I'm not here to talk of Cersen's cow of a wife, I'm here to talk of yours. She kidnapped my brother, who has committed no crimes. I want him back, Stark, whether Lady Catelyn gives him up willingly or not," They had had word Tyrion was being taken to Winterfell, but Jaime doubt that. Riverrun was much closer. "If you will not aid me and order her to release Tyrion, I will raise a force of men who will make her,"

There was a long silence. Once again, she did not like the look in Stark's grey eyes. 

"My lady, this is a private matter," He said carefully. "May we talk in my solar. Alone," She fixed him with an assessing stare. 

"Very well," The guards dispersed, as he held open the door for her. The door closed as Stark stepped inside, moving behind the desk. Jaime did not sit and neither did he. "Speak, then,"

"I know the truth Jon Arryn died for," His words were hard, his eyes cold. 

"What has Jon Arryn got to do with - "

"It is the same truth that your husband spat in your face that night at dinner," Her insides went cold, but it was easy to keep a neutral expression. She'd been lying about this her whole life, and she sure as hells hadn't killed Jon Arryn. 

"That I'm a treacherous whore?" She raised an eyebrow. "Half the castle is saying that, Stark, they have been for years. If you brought me in here just to tell me that, then I fear you're wasting your time,"

"He spoke of your children, Joffrey and Myrcella," The man said, unwavering. "And your brother,"

"What are you trying to say?" Jaime said, unimpressed. "I haven't the time to waste hearing you speculate on some madness I barely remember my late husband saying. I was being throttled at the time, see," She smiled falsely. 

"Joffrey and Myrcella are Cersen's children, not Lord Stannis'," There was a beat of silence. 

"How did you come to _that_ conclusion?" Her tone bespoke her disdain for the statement, just the right mix of scorn and disgust, and amusement that he could believe such a thing. "And you think I killed Jon Arryn because he found out?" She laughed. "Have you been drinking, Lord Stark? Or perhaps you too suffered a blow to the head,"

"Deny it, my lady," Ned Stark cut her off. "Look me in the eye," 

"I deny it," Jaime gave him an odd look. What else did he think she would do? _If that's the extent of his questioning skills, I'm in the clear_. "Stannis spent his last conscious moments trying his best to murder everyone in the room, including his brother and his own son. Do you honestly believe he was speaking some profound truth, or that he was sick and delirious, speaking whatever nonsense came to his mind?" She was no born liar, but she had no qualms about weaving an entire tapestry of untruths if it spared her children. _Make yourself believe it._ That had been Elia's advice. "Words are wind. Just because someone speaks them, it doesn't make them true. People see us walking together and gossip that we're involved in some sordid affair, because why else would Ned Stark want to simply _talk_ to the Kingslayer?"

"My lady," He looked her in the eye. "I know how your brother was Lord Arryn's rival on the council, looking for any way to bring him down. I know that Jon was looking into Robert's bastards, all of whom are black of hair, as are the king's trueborn children and six of yours. There is a book, showing there is no child with a Baratheon parent born without dark hair. I couldn't piece it all together at first, but then I overheard what Lord Stannis said,"

"As he attempted to strangle me?" 

"Yes," They stared at each other, neither one relenting. 

"If you insist on believing that," Jaime said eventually. "You're paranoid and delusional, but there's little I can do to stop you doing what you will. Which is what?" She tilted her head, and she saw Stark glance away ever so slightly. She smirked. "Ah. You wish to blackmail me. Into leaving your dear little wife alone, I suppose. How honourable," 

"Return peacefully to Storm's End, my lady," Stark said simply. "And I swear, I will keep your secret to myself,"

"You'd let a boy you believe to be a bastard keep Storm's End, your beloved Robert's ancestral seat?" She asked, tutting in mock-disappointment. "A bastard son, a fling with the queen, blackmail and now this lapse of morals? I'm starting to think your reputation is simply all talk,"

"If you insist on pretending I'm wrong," Stark's eyes narrowed, but he ignored the jibe. "You can at least acknowledge that Robert will believe me when I tell him what I've told you," He was right. She could call his bluff, but when it came to this, even Jaime wasn't willing to risk it. She looked away. 

"You'd have two of my children disinherited, myself sent to the Silent Sisters in disgrace, the other six children shamed by their whore of a mother?" She didn't wait for a reply. "You must love your wife a great deal. Very well, Stark, you win. I'll leave," She smiled at the man, hoping to unsettle him. It didn't work. 

"And you'll take the princess with you? Robert gave permission," It was an olive branch, a poor one, a nod back to their near-ally status from before. Jaime hesitated for a moment, thinking of refusing out of spite alone, but then nodded sharply. 

"Of course," 

*

They left early the next morning, as the sun came up. Arthur was to stay behind in King's Landing, as was Joffrey, despite Jaime telling her son that he should come to the Stormlands if he wanted the lords to respect him as Lord Baratheon. He'd laughed in her face, in fact, and that was when she had given up and left, for fearing of slapping him in front of half the court. 

She didn't speak to Cersen, refusing to let him in as she packed her things; he'd only try to persuade her into leaving Cassana here, and she didn't want to give him any chance of succeeding. Staying apart from her twin for this long, when he was so close, was far harder than Jaime would like to admit. She still wanted him, despite everything. 

Helia, Myrcella and Steffon had their own horses, whilst the twins and Cassana rode in front of one of the Baratheon guards that had come with them from Storm's End. All of Jaime's own personal guard, many of whom who had been serving her since her father assigned them to her after her wedding, were there as well. 

Their party split in two when they reached the Kingsroad. She had spent most of the previous afternoon making arrangements with the captain of her personal guard, though had neglected to tell her children, or anyone else. Lord Stark's threat was still fresh in her mind, and though she was tempted to call his bluff, this way was easiest in truth. It made both of them happy, at least for a time. She wouldn't harm Lady Catelyn, not unless the damned women didn't let her take Tyrion back.

"Mother, where are you going?" Helia demanded, kicking her horse to catch up as Jaime and her personal guard prepared to turn west instead of south with the others. 

"Catelyn Stark kidnapped my brother," She smiled sharply. "I'm going to get him back,"

"You've got men for that," Her daughter frowned. "Why go yourself?" _Why indeed_.

"I'm tired of sitting around waiting for others to do things for me," She replied. _I'm a widow, this is the most free I've been in my whole life_. "Besides, I have a debt to pay,"

*

_Jaime, having travelled with a dozen of her personal guard, met up with her father's army in the Westerlands, and learns that Robert has died from a boar (Cersen's plotting, the same as before), Ned has been arrested for treason but Jaime's children and Cassana made it to Storm's End. Renly has fled to Highgarden. Cersen has appointed himself regent and crowned Joffrey as king. As yet, after Ned's arrest, no one is objecting._

_Tywin is angry that Jaime left and tries to send her back to King's Landing or Casterly Rock. Instead she doubles back and travels with her cousin Daven's army to besiege Riverrun_. 

_Very little happens differently to canon surrounding these points, hence the brief overview_. 

*

The night, once still and quiet, was now chaos. Jaime would never admit it, but her heart had chilled when they heard the first long, low war horn sound throughout the forested valley. That chill had turned to cold dread as a dozen more horns answered the first, forming a chorus all around them with the ungodly howling of Robb Stark's great beast.

The moment she had felt the thrum of arrows from all around them, she had flattened herself to her horse's neck, more than aware of the fact that she had no armour. Though she supposed that was her own damned fault for insisting on riding with cousin Daven, to watch them break what had seemed like a smallish Tully raiding party, but turned out to be half of the Northern army.

Jaime knew that it was folly to expect to fight alongside the men - even Daven was not near bold enough to defy her father like that - but had brought her sword nonetheless, thinking that although she would be on the sidelines of a skirmish, at least she could defend herself if needs be. 

That was before she had ended up in the middle of an actual battlefield. The Northmen had charged out of the trees, outnumbering their small host more than three to one, and Jaime had been caught in the midst of it all. Still cursing the fact that she wore silk rather than steel, she had pulled up the hood of her cloak, given her horse a sharp kick and, gritting her teeth, pushed her way out of the thick of the battle, heading for the edge. The opposite to what she wanted to do, which was leap into the fray with sword drawn, but even she recognised that would be a death sentence.

Two of her guards followed behind. It was a mercy that her cloak was large, covering most of her dress, and she was sat astride in a riding habit rather than sidesaddle. Perhaps they might consider her a craven fleeing the fight, and let her go.

It was quite plain that the Lannisters were losing. It was torture, just watching from the distance Jaime had made it up the ridge, and truly she wanted nothing more than to join the fight, but she knew that the moment she lowered her hood, she would be an obvious target. A woman in a battle was rare enough, let alone one with golden hair, wearing a green gown. She would be carried off as a hostage; many would go down before they took her, but she would be caught in the end. She might be reckless, but she wasn't entirely stupid.

Jaime saw cousin Daven in the thick of it, trying to regroup his men for one last push, as Stark's direwolf tore through Lannister soldiers like they were little more than rag dolls. Was she as mad as people said for wanting leap into the thick of it?

"We'd best go," She turned with distaste to Cedrick, who had been part of her personal guard for over twelve years. "Before they start to wonder where I've gone," If the Northmen had been watching from the woods before the attack, they would have easily seen her with her hood down. Cedrick nodded sharply, clearly glad for her decision; knowing her as long as he did, he must have been preparing to bodily haul his lord's daughter away to safety. 

"We'll have to go over the ridge, my lady. They've closed the whole valley but if we avoid either end, we could slip through,"

"Fine, then," Jaime dug her heels into her horse's side, and the two men followed, up the slope. It was almost a physical wrench to tear her eyes away from the battle, to turn her back on Daven and his men, to flee like a scared rabbit, but she wasn't going to let herself be taken prisoner if she could help it. Jaime did not plan on becoming a hostage of her family's enemies, not again.

Of course, their route to escape just had to lead them straight into Catelyn Stark, waiting out the battle with her own guards. All thirty of them. Jaime heard her other man, Pate, curse under his breath. There was no chance the Northmen hadn't seen them, and several moved into their path. She wheeled her horse around, only to find more had moved behind to cut them off.

"Who goes there?" The call came. Others moved to their left and right, whilst a good number stuck close to their lady. Jaime wanted to speak, but a woman's voice would give them away. She looked to her left.

"Three men who will go in peace, if you let us," Cedrick replied.

"Lannister deserters," One of the Stark men scoffed. "Cravens. I say we kill them,"

"Come on, the one in the middle's just a boy,"

"A boy on a horse that fine? Must be some squire, a lord's son. Ransom him?" Jaime saw them all eyeing each other, seeming to reach an agreement. She contemplated giving her horse a good kick and charging through the middle to take them by surprise, but then saw that they'd formed another ring around their group. No, she wouldn't do that, if only to not leave her children motherless.

"What of the other two?"

"Common soldiers," One shrugged. "Who cares if they die?" That ruled out simple surrender, not that her pride would've relished in that anyway. 

"What's your name, boy?" They turned to Jaime, who raised her head, not enough for them to see clearly under the hooded cloak, but enough that Lady Catelyn began to squint at her. Jaime did not answer, wordlessly drawing her sword from where it was strapped to the horse. Laughter met this action.

"It's three against thirty," A Stark man chortled. "How many of us do you think you three could take down, boy, before we snap that skinny wrist of yours?" Jaime made a show of looking around her, considering each of them. A lock of golden hair falling out of her hood.

"Half," Some paused as she spoke for the first time, noting something was wrong, but more were shaking their heads incredulously, advancing forward. Her guards both drew their swords.

The men went straight for Jaime at first, aiming to drag her off her horse - dead hostages were worth considerably less - but she moved immediately, easily cutting down the first two and injuring a third before they had a chance to blink. Her mare was not a war horse, and skittered from the sight of dying men, but Jaime pushed forward despite the prancing animal, trying to cut a path out. 

Shouts of surprise were spreading through the group as they realised how good she was. All those stolen hours of practicing in secret with any knight brave enough to teach her had paid off. Wherever she moved, men died. Jaime had always loved the thrill of a spar, but there was nothing like a true fight to make her feel alive. 

Another man made a grab for her cloak, attempting to pull her off her horse; she shed it quickly, and felt herself grin as they saw her mane of golden curls, the wind cold on her exposed face. Surprised shouts of 'Kingslayer' went through the ranks, and she took advantage of their surprise. Her heart was singing, her sword an extension of her arm. _This is what I was made for_. 

But it had to end soon, of course it did. Two men and one woman - who, no matter how skilled, lacked armour and a shield - could not win against thirty hardened soldiers. They cut her horse from under her first. The poor animal died screaming, and Jaime was forced to throw herself to one side to avoid getting her leg crushed.

She fell into one soldier, legs getting tangled in her damned dress, but she did not let go of her sword, using the momentum to drive the blade between a gap in his armour, then push herself upright off his chest and spin around to meet the next. They didn't want to kill her, but that didn't mean they softened their blows at all, and she felt the blood dripping down arms, legs, face, even if Jaime didn't feel the wounds themselves. _This is what you always wanted, isn't it? To be treated equal in a fight?_ Even now, she found that was true. The thought amused her, and she laughed aloud. 

But having lost her advantage of being on a horse, she was brought down quickly. Jaime was knocked to the ground by a powerful blow to the back, and before she could jump back to her feet, someone had thrown themselves on her legs. She attempted a vicious swipe with the sword behind, satisfied with the pained yell she heard in response, only for more men to descend on her. Her sword was taken only after someone ground their boot into her wrist, forcing her to release her grip, and her arms were roughly pressed behind her back.

Jaime lay there, winded, face pressed needlessly hard in the dirt by someone's gauntleted hand, as people moved above her.

"Gods, she fights like a hellion,"

"Vicious Lannister bitch," Someone spat.

"How many did she kill?"

"Six, at least, and more wounded,"

"See what she did to Torrhen, poor bastard! That's not natural, look at the size of her,"

"Where in hells did she learn to use a sword like that?"

"I heard she fucked Arthur Dayne in return for lessons," _Well it didn't happen_ quite _like that_. "Didn't know she was that... that she could do that, though," _You can't even admit I'm good_.

"People say she's half-mad,"

"I can see why,"

"Let her up," Lady Catelyn's sharp voice could be heard. The pressure on her back and legs were released - two men had been kneeling on her, another forcing her wrists behind her back, whilst one more pressed her head into the ground - and she was roughly dragged to her knees. Her dress was torn and filthy, her hair and face covered with bits of forest, but she was sure to put on a smile.

"Lady Stark," Blood dripped into her eyes from a wound on her forehead, though she could see the corpses of her two loyal guards clear enough. Now the thrill was wearing off slightly, Jaime was beginning to feel the injuries that she hadn't realised she'd received, the warm blood running down her body. _And that is why knights wear armour_. They'd have killed her, if they were trying to. "A pleasure as always." She had to laugh at the expression on the woman's face, and tried not to wince at the movement.

"Why are you here, my lady, not in the capital?"

"Looking for the brother you abducted," Jaime narrowed her eyes. "Though I hear he weaselled his way free. Which reminds me," She smiled sharply. "Your husband was very insistent that I keep my men away from you. He went so far as to threaten to go to Robert with a pack of lies in order to bring me down, if I did not obey,"

"Ned would not resort to blackmail - "

"Oh you'd be surprised what _Ned_ would do," She gave a laugh. "I could tell you all sorts," She smiled suggestively. "Though I suppose right now, in the black cells, with Robert dead, he can't do an awful lot," Catelyn turned away for a moment, her words clearly having hit their mark.

"Take her away," The woman snapped, then added. "Don't let her near a blade of any sort,"

"No chance of that," One of them muttered under his breath as they dragged her away. Jaime grinned, despite the fact she had twisted her left leg quite badly and was limping somewhat.

"Come on, milady Lannister," Another said, darkly amused by the absurdity of dragging a highborn lady - the king's mother, nonetheless - through a battlefield.

"Call me Jaime, please, ser," She smiled her most angelic smile, used her sweetest voice. It must have been quite a sight, dirty and bloodied as she was. In the end she couldn't keep a straight face as they all stared at her, and had to laugh.

"Seven hells," Someone snorted, shaking his head. "How did they give you to Stannis?"

"Hurry up, woman," Another man snapped. "Stop playing up that limp,"

"One of you lot gave me the injury," She smiled sharply at him. "Though I can see I repaid that debt in full," They all bore marks from her and her men, be that dented armour or deep cuts. 

"Lannister whore," Came the charming reply. "You alone killed seven good men and wounded seven more,"

"Then call me a murderer not a whore, at least,"

"We could carry her?" Someone suggested. _If you think I'd let myself be_ carried _through the northern army, you're out of your mind_. 

"You're welcome to let her steal your dagger," Another snorted resentfully. 

"Another dastardly plan foiled," Jaime said sarcastically. "I can hardly walk. Even if I did have a blade, I wouldn't get very far with it,"

"So you'd let yourself be carried?" He narrowed his eyes. 

"No, I'd steal the dagger and kill at least three of you before you knocked me into the dirt again," She said with perfect honesty. The man sighed. 

"Limping it is, then,"

"Limping it is," 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An explanation of my characterisation of Jaime: Here, she is at about thee same stage with regard to Cersen as male Jaime was in early AFFC; she's starting how see far Cersen will actually go, how erratic and stupid his decisions are, and is getting sick of how he treats her like a possession. She's realising this earlier as she is not entirely dependent on her twin, unlike male Jaime; Lady Jaime has a husband, a best friend, children. She has a life outside Cersen. Nonetheless, she hasn't had the shock of losing a hand, nor of finding out about Cersen's numerous affairs, so although she might be furious with him for possibly causing Ashara's death, their bond goes far too deep to break entirely; she can't bring herself to turn her back on him just yet. 
> 
> Cersen is simply female Cersei if she had the free reign to do as much damage as she wished. He still makes excuses for being at a disadvantage even though he was born strong, male and rich, he still is entitled and believes he deserves power, he's still so narcissistic the only son he feels is worthy of his time is the one he had with his twin sister. But where Cersei would cry and beg to Jaime to manipulate him in the only way she knew how, Cersen has never had to pretend to be sweet and vulnerable and 'womanly' to get what he wants, and is even more entitled, and less subtle, because of it. I know the plot to get Joffrey on the throne is awful and obvious and people must find something suspicious, but that's the point. Cersen is far from a political mastermind. Yes, he did kill Stannis too in case that wasn't clear. 
> 
> Anyway, thanks for reading! Please feel free to comment and vote, as always I'm open to constructive criticism and love to hear what readers think. 


	4. Ser Brien Of Tarth

An east wind blew through her tangled hair, as soft as her daughter's fingers. After so long in that foul dungeon, the entire world was almost painfully sweet, so much so that Jaime suddenly laughed. 

"Quiet," The boy snapped. Scowls suited his homely face better than a smile. Not that Jaime had ever seen him smiling. She couldn't help but notice that, ugly and dour as he was, he could row, the huge muscles of his arms stretching and tightening with each stroke of the oars. _A big strong peasant lad to look at him, yet he speaks like one highborn and wears longsword and dagger_. _Ah, but can he use them?_ Jaime meant to find out, as soon as she rid herself of her chains.

She wore iron manacles on her wrists but thankfully no matching pair on her ankles. Hopefully that would prove to be an oversight on their part. "You'd think my word as a Lannister was not good enough," Jaime had japed as they bound her. She'd been very drunk by then, and recalled only bits and pieces of their escape from Riverrun, much of it involving laughing like a fool and hanging off of Catelyn Stark's arm as they stumbled through dark corridors.

Her legs were weak after months underground, and the boy had lent her an arm to lean on after Lady Catelyn grew weary of her when climbing a long stair. At some point, she was bundled into a hooded traveler's cloak and shoved into the bottom of a boat. Lady Catelyn had ordered someone to raise the portcullis on the Water Gate, firmly declaring that she was sending Ser Cleos Frey back to King's Landing with new terms for the Lord Regent.

Jaime must have drifted off then, the wine having made her sleepy. _Tyrion is going to laugh himself sick when he hears how I slept through my own escape, Arthur and my daughters along with him_. She was awake now, though, and the manacles were irritating. 

"Ser, if you'll strike off these chains, I'll spell you at those oars,"

"You'll wear your chains, Kingslayer," He glowered suspiciously with his horse-toothed face.

"You figure to row all the way to King's Landing, boy?"

"You will call me Brien. Not _boy_." _Oh, will I now?_

"My name is Lady Jaime. Not Kingslayer,"

"Do you deny that you slew a king?"

"No. Do you deny your sex? If so, unlace those breeches and show me," She gave him a laden smile. "Great big lad like you, there should be evidence enough. Are you afraid to have me unbound? Me, a gently-bred woman who's spent the last year rotting in a dungeon. Look, my arms have wasted to twigs, my legs are too weak to run and I'm thinner than that fat neck of yours," To emphasise the point, she lifted her ragged skirts slightly and waved her leg at him.

"Cousin, remember your courtesies," Ser Cleos admonished nervously

 _The Lannister blood runs thin in this one_. Lady Stark had promised her cousin release if he delivered her message to Tyrion, and her cousin had solemnly vowed to do so.

They'd all done a lot of vowing back in that cell, Jaime most of all. Lady Catelyn had laid the point of the big lad's sword against her heart and made her swear to return her daughters, pricking her skin through her rags. _I wonder what the High Septon would have to say about the sanctity of oaths sworn while dead drunk, chained to a wall, with a sword pressed to your chest?_ Not that Jaime was truly concerned about that fat fraud, or the gods he claimed to serve. A strange woman, Lady Catelyn, to trust her girls to a woman she saw as a whore with shit for honour. 

"Perhaps she is not so stupid after all,"

"I am not stupid. Nor deaf," Brien wrongly took offence. 

"I was speaking to myself, and not of you. It's an easy habit to slip into in a cell," Jaime was gentle with him; mocking this one would be so easy there would be no sport to it. He frowned at her, saying nothing. _As glib of tongue as he is fair of face_. "By your speech, I'd judge you nobly born,"

"My father is Selwyn of Tarth, by the grace of the gods Lord of Evenfall," Even that was given grudgingly.

"Tarth," Jaime said. "A ghastly large rock in the narrow sea, as I recall. And Evenfall is sworn to Storm's End. How is it that you serve Robb of Winterfell?"

"It is Lady Catelyn I serve. And she commanded me to deliver you safe to your brother Tyrion at King's Landing, not to bandy words with you. Be silent,"

"I've had a bellyful of silence, boy." _And a bellyful of men like you telling me to shut my mouth_.

"Talk with Ser Cleos then. I have no words for monsters," At that, she gasped dramatically, doing her best impression of a fainting court lady.

"Are there monsters hereabouts?" Jaime started to laugh. "Hiding beneath the water, perhaps? In that thick of willows? Oh, ser knight, you must protect me!" He scowled again. 

"A woman who would lay with her own brother, murder the king she was a ward of through trickery, kill her husband and allow an innocent child to be flung to his death deserves no other name," 

"You're can't be much older than my son Joffrey." Jaime grinned, even though she generally disliked reminding herself that Joffrey her son. "But even my six year old daughters can hold a more interesting conversation," Although he hadn't called her a whore yet, which was something. "Are you lackwitted, is that it?"

"Cousin Jaime, please, you ought not speak so roughly," Cleos said. "We have far to go, we should not quarrel amongst ourselves,"

"When I quarrel you'll know about it, coz. I was speaking to the knight. Tell me, boy, are all the men on Tarth as ugly as you? I pity the women, if so. Perhaps they do not know what real men look like, living on a dreary mountain in the sea,"

"Tarth is beautiful," The boy grunted. "The Sapphire Isle, it's called. Be quiet, monster, unless you mean to make me gag you,"

"He's rude as well, isn't he, coz?" Jaime raised an eyebrow at Cleos, who coughed nervously. 

"Ser Brien had those lies from Catelyn Stark, no doubt. The Starks cannot hope to defeat us with swords, my lady, so now they make war with poisoned words,"

 _They did defeat Daven and I with swords, you chinless cretin_. Jaime smiled knowingly. Men would read all sorts of things into a knowing smile, if you let them. _Has cousin Cleos truly swallowed this kettle of dung, or is he striving to ingratiate himself? What do we have here, an honest muttonhead or a lickspittle?_

"Any man who'd believe that a noble lady would harm another mother's child does not know the meaning of honour," He prattled on. 

_Lickspittle_. Jaime sat back on her bench, brushing her long, wild hair out of her face yet again. She turned back to Cleos.

"Cousin, lend me your knife,"

"No," The boy tensed. "I will not have you armed." His voice was unyielding. _He's wary of me, even weak and in irons_. That was a shame, if rather satisfying. Jaime was used to men underestimating her. _A mistake they soon learn to regret_. 

"Cleos, it seems I must ask you to cut my hair. Leave it down to the chin, but take the rest. The realm knows Jaime Lannister as a highborn lady with long, shining golden curls. A filthy, short-haired woman in rags may pass unnoticed. I'd sooner not be recognised. The two of you are hardly a formidable force,"

The dagger was not as sharp as it might have been. Cleos hacked away, sawing his way through her hair and tossing the offcuts over the side. The golden curls floated on the surface of the river, and were soon swept away.

The reflection Jaime saw in the water was a woman she did not know. Not only was her hair now short, but she looked as though she had aged five years in that dungeon; her face was thinner, with hollows under her eyes and lines she did not remember. _I don't look as much like Cersen this way. He'll hate that_. Another thing for her brother to lecture her on upon her return, along with ensuring Princess Cassana's safety and getting herself captured. 

"Smoke," Cleos said some time after midday, squinting at the river bank. Below it, Jaime made out the smouldering remains of a large building, and a live oak full of dead women.

"This was not chivalrously done," Brien said when they were close enough to see clearly. "No true knight would condone such wanton butchery,"

"True knights see worse every time they ride to war, boy," Jaime said. "And _do_ worse," 

"I'll leave no innocents to be food for crows," Brien steered toward the shore.

"Don't be heartless. Crows need to eat as well. Stay to the river and leave the dead alone," She was ignored, of course.

They landed at the bank, and as Brien lowered the sail, Jaime climbed out, clumsy in her chains and filthy dress, the river immediately filling her boots and soaking through the ragged skirts. She dropped unceremoniously to her knees, ducked her head under the water, and came up dripping. Her hands were filthy with layers of dirt, so she rubbed them clean, only to find them thinner and paler than she remembered. Her legs were stiff and unsteady as well. _I was too bloody long in Hoster Tully's dungeon_.

"One of us will need to cut them down," The boy looked up at the corpses.

"I'll climb," Jaime waded ashore, clanking. "Just get these chains off," She followed his stare to one of the dead women, and smiled humourlessly at the crude sign hung around her neck. " _They Lay With Lions_. Oh, yes, boy, this was _most_ unchivalrously done... But by your side, not mine. I wonder who they were, these women?"

"Tavern wenches," Cleos said. "This was an inn, I remember it now. Some men of my escort spent the night here when we last returned to Riverrun," 

"The girls pleasured some of my lord father's soldiers, it would seem," Her smile faded somewhat, and Jaime was suddenly very glad that her daughters were born highborn. "Perhaps served them food and drink. That's how they earned their traitors' collars, with a kiss and a cup of ale," She glanced up and down the river, to make certain they were quite alone. "This is Bracken land. Lord Jonos might have ordered them killed. My father burned his castle,"

"It might be Marq Piper's work," Cleos said. "Or Beric Dondarrion, though I'd heard he kills only soldiers. Perhaps a band of Roose Bolton's northmen?"

"Bolton was defeated by my father on the Green Fork,"

"But not broken," Cleos said. "He came south again when Lord Tywin marched against the fords. The word at Riverrun was that he'd taken Harrenhal from Ser Amory Lorch," Jaime didn't like the sound of that. 

"Brien," She granted him the courtesy of his name in the hope he might listen. "If Lord Bolton holds Harrenhal, both the Trident and the kingsroad are likely watched," She thought she saw a touch of uncertainty in his big blue eyes. 

"You are under my protection. They'd need to kill me,"

"I shouldn't think that would trouble them," She fought the urge to mimic Helia's favourite expression and roll her eyes.

"I am a better fighter than many," He said defensively. "I was one of King Renly's chosen seven. With his own hands, he cloaked me with the striped silk of the Rainbow Guard,"

"The _Rainbow_ Guard? You and six other girls, was it?" She grinned. _Gods, it's too easy_. "A singer once said that all knights are handsome in steel plate... But he never met you, did he? Perhaps he meant all knights are handsome wearing a helm," Brien turned red, to her satisfaction. 

"We have graves to dig," Surprisingly nimble, he climbed the tree and, dagger in hand, began to cut down the corpses. Flies swarmed around the bodies as they fell, and the stench grew worse with each one. Jaime noticed that many of their dresses looked to be in better condition than her own, though she wasn't so desperate as to consider looting one.

"This is a deal of trouble to take for whores," Cleos complained. _Why, I'd hope you'd take time to bury me, cousin, if you found me hanged in a tree_. "What are we supposed to dig with? We have no spades, and I will not use my sword, I - "

"To the boat," Brien shouted suddenly, jumping down rather than climbing. "Be quick. There's a sail," They hastened to the skiff, though Jaime could hardly run on her wobbly legs, and had to be half-carried back into the boat by her cousin. Brien shoved off with an oar and raised the sail hurriedly. "Ser Cleos, I'll need you to row as well," Cleos did as he bid. Jaime sat chained, peering upriver. Only the top of the other sail was visible, but it was clearly in Tully colours. The inn soon vanished behind them. 

"We can hope the noble Tullys will stop to bury the dead whores, I suppose," Brien glared at her for that, but she ignored him. 

For the good part of an hour they played peek-and-seek with the pursuers, sweeping around bends and between small wooded isles. Just when they were starting to hope that somehow they might have outrun them, the sail became visible again.

"The Others take them," Cleos wiped sweat from his brow.

"Row!" Brien said.

"That is a river galley coming after us," Jaime announced after she'd watched for a while. With every stroke, it seemed to grow larger. "Nine oars on each side, which means eighteen men. More, if they crowded on fighters as well as rowers. And larger sails than ours. We cannot outrun her,"

"Eighteen, you said?" Cleos froze.

"Six for each of us. I'd want eight, but these bracelets hinder me somewhat," Jaime held up her wrists. "Unless Ser Brien would be so kind as to unshackle me?" She smiled but he ignored her. "We had half a night's start on them. They've been rowing since dawn, resting two oars at a time. They'll be exhausted. Just now the sight of our sail has given them a burst of strength, but that will not last. We ought to be able to kill a good many of them,"

"But... There are _eighteen,_ " Cleos gaped at her.

"At the least. More likely twenty or twenty-five,"

"We can't hope to defeat eighteen," Her cousin groaned.

"Did I say we could? The best we can hope for is to die with swords in our hands," She was perfectly sincere. Of course, she would have preferred to return safe and sound to King's Landing to see her children again, but given the circumstances - either die here, fighting, or die rotting in a dungeon, as Stark would never ransom her - she knew which option she preferred.

Cleos stared at her like she was mad, but Jaime was used to that look.

"You are under my protection," Brien grimaced, his voice so thick with anger that it was almost a growl. She had to laugh. 

"Then protect me, boy, and I'll play your sweet damsel in distress. Or free me so I can protect myself,"

The galley was gaining visibly, the men on her deck crowding forward as she came closer, armed with swords and bows. At the prow stood a stocky man with a bald head, bushy grey eyebrows, and brawny arms. _Robin Ryger_. She remembered Riverrun's captain of guards tackling her to the ground himself during her first ill-fated escape attempt.

"Come to wish me godspeed, Ser Robin?" Jaime cupped her hands around her mouth and shouted over the water

"Come to take you back, Lady Jaime," Ryger bellowed. "How is it that you've turned your golden hair into a ruin?"

"I've woven the rest into a garrotte. I hope to use it on you," The man was unamused. 

"Throw your oars and your weapons into the river, and no one need be harmed," The distance between them had shrunk to forty yards. Cleos twisted around. 

"Jaime, tell him we were freed by Lady Catelyn... An exchange of captives, lawful..." Jaime told him, for all the good it did. 

"Catelyn Stark does not rule in Riverrun," Ryger shouted back. Four archers moved into position on either side of him. "Cast your swords into the water,"

"I have no sword," She returned. "But if I did, I'd stick it through your belly and hack the balls off those four cravens," A flight of arrows answered her. One thudded into the mast, two pierced the sail, and the fourth missed Jaime by a foot. _So much for unharmed_...

Another of the Red Fork's loops loomed before them. Brien angled the skiff across the bend. Ahead a large island sat in the middle of the river; the main channel flowed right, whilst to the left a cutoff ran between the island and the high, rocky banks of the north shore. Brien steered them left, whilst Jaime watched his eyes. _Pretty eyes,_ she thought, _and calm_. She knew how to read a man's eyes, and knew what fear looked like. _He is determined, not desperate_. Thirty yards behind, the galley was entering the bend. 

"Ser Cleos, take the tiller," The boy commanded. "Kingslayer, take an oar and keep us off the rocks,"

"As my brave knight commands," An oar was not a sword, but the blade would surely break a man's face if swung well. Cleos shoved the oar into Jaime's hand and scrambled over. They crossed the head of the island and turned sharply down the cutoff, hidden from the galley's view between the green wall of the trees and the stony bank. _A few moments' respite from the arrows_.

The skiff rocked. She heard a splash, and when she glanced around, Brien was gone. A moment later she saw him again, pulling himself from the water at the base of the bank. He waded through a shallow pool, scrambled over some rocks, and began to climb. Ser Cleos goggled, mouth open. _Fool_. 

"Ignore the boy," Jaime snapped. "Steer,"

The river galley came into full view at the top of the cutoff, twenty-five yards behind. Half-dozen arrows took flight, but all went well wide. The motion of the two boats was giving the archers difficulty, but they'd soon enough learn to compensate. Brien was halfway up the cliff face of the bank. _Ryger's sure to see him, and once he does he'll have those bowmen bring him down_. Jaime decided to see if the old man's pride would make him stupid. 

"Ser Robin," She shouted. "Hear me for a moment," Ryger raised a hand, and the archers lowered their bows. 

"Say what you will, Kingslayer, but say it quickly,"

"I know a better way to settle this—single combat. You and I,"

"I will not fight a woman, Lannister, and a woman is what you are, no matter how many you've killed,"

"Are you afraid to lose?" Jaime raised her hands so he could see the manacles. "I'll even fight you in chains. What could you fear?"

"Not you, my lady. I'm sure you deserve to have some of that pride knocked out of you, but I am commanded to bring you back alive, unharmed if possible. Bowmen. Notch. Draw Loo - "

The range was less than twenty yards, they could scarcely have missed, but as they pulled on their longbows, a boulder the size of a cow detached itself from the top of the bank. The stone tumbled through the air, struck the face of the cliff, cracked in two, and smashed down on them. The larger piece snapped the mast, tore through the sail, sent two of the archers flying into the river, and crushed the leg of a rower as he bent over his oar. The speed with which the galley began to fill with water suggested that the smaller fragment had punched right through her hull. The oarsman's screams echoed off the bluff while the archers flailed wildly in the current. From the way they were splashing, neither man could swim. Jaime watched and laughed.

By the time they emerged from the cutoff, the galley was foundering, and she had decided that the gods were good. Ser Robin and his archers would have a long wet walk back to Riverrun, and she was rid of the big homely knight as well. _I could not have planned it better myself._

Ser Cleos shouted. When Jaime looked up, Brien was lumbering along the clifftop, well ahead of them, having cut across a finger of land while they were following the bend in the river. He threw himself off the rock, and looked almost graceful as he folded into a dive. It would have been ungracious to hope that he would smash his head on a stone. Cleos turned the skiff toward him, but thankfully Jaime still had her oar. _One good swing when he comes paddling up and I'll be free of him_.

Instead she found herself stretching the oar out for Brien to grab hold, and Jaime pulled him in with not-inconsiderable difficulty, their boat rocking from his weight. She nearly toppled into the water herself at one point - gods he was heavy, he had to be near as large as the Hound, and even worse looking - and ended up sodden anyway, as water poured off him. _His face is even uglier wet._

"You're a bloody stupid fool," She told him, wringing out her skirts. "We could have sailed on without you. I suppose you expect me to thank you?"

"I want none of your thanks, Kingslayer. I swore an oath to bring you safe to King's Landing,"

"And you actually mean to keep it?" Jaime gave him her brightest smile, shaking out her wet hair. "Now there's a wonder," All the things she'd said to him that day, and that remark was the only one to make him blush.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's very little different here from the original plot-wise, though I hope I managed to convey the differences with female Jaime, in her personality and the way others treat her. This whole story is written simply because I find the idea interesting myself; if it's just becoming a boring reread of ASOS, please let me know. 
> 
> Any passages from A Storm of Swords are the work of GRRM, not mine. 
> 
> What do you think of Ser Brien? He hasn't got quite the same hangups as Brienne, given that a large, muscular body is admired in men, but his face is very ugly nonetheless, and he's rather awkward and naive still. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	5. The Kneeling Man

Jaime was the first to see the inn as they turned a bend in the river. After a short argument, which she won with Cleos backing her up against Brien, the young knight turned the skiff towards the dock. Having tied the boat up, she clambered out after him, managing not to trip on the hem of her ragged dress and looking around. A sign swung from a nearby post, a king upon his knees done in flaking paint. 

"We could not have found a better inn," Jaime laughed aloud. 

"Is this some special place?" Brien asked, suspicious. Whilst her cousin explained the story of Torrhen Stark, the king who knelt, Jaime's ears perked up at the sound of a horse's whinny. 

"Horses in the stable. One at least," _And one is all I need to put this boy behind me_. "Let's see who's home, shall we?" Without waiting for an answer, she sauntered up to the door, chains clanking, and shoved it open with her shoulder, only to find herself facing a loaded crossbow wielded by a stocky boy of fifteen. 

"Lion, fish, or wolf?" The threatening demand was ruined slightly as the lad's eyes flickered down to her chest. 

"We were hoping for capon," Jaime heard her companions behind her. "Have you even used that thing before?" She looked doubtfully down at the crossbow.

"Yes," He sniffed indignantly. "It'll put a bolt through any man's heart," _Oh, it was my_ heart _you were looking at?_ She had forgotten that this dress had a low neckline, given there was no one to ogle her when she was in the dungeons, and Brien would sooner glower at her and call her a monster.

"Mine too?" Jaime flashed a charming smile - inwardly laughing at herself, for this one truly was only Joffrey's age - and the boy gawped at her a moment, before glaring at Brien as he appeared at her shoulder. 

"I don't kill women," The boy glowered. "But I'd kill him,"

"Perhaps," She shrugged. "But before you can wind it again, my cousin here will spill your entrails on the floor,"

"Don't be scaring the lad, now," Cleos said.

"We mean no harm," Brien said. "And we have coin to pay for food," He dug out a silver piece, which the boy looked over suspiciously, and then glanced at Jaime's manacles. 

"Why's she in irons?"

"Killed some crossbowmen," She said, giving a feral smile. "Do you have ale?"

"Yes," The boy lowered the crossbow an inch. "Undo your swordbelts and let them fall, and might be we'll feed you," 

"Three, are you?" A sallow, pockmarked man stepped through the cellar door, holding a butcher's cleaver. "We got horsemeat enough for three. The horse was old and tough, but the meat's still fresh,"

"Is there bread?" Brien asked.

"Hardbread and stale oatcakes,"

"Now there's an honest innkeep," Jaime grinned. "They'll all serve you stale bread and stringy meat, but most don't own up to it so freely,"

"I'm no innkeep. I buried him out back, with his women,"

"Did you kill them?"

"Would I tell you if I did?" The man spat. "Likely it were wolves' work, or maybe lions, what's the difference? The wife and I found them dead. The way we see it, the place is ours now,"

"Where is this wife of yours?" Ser Cleos asked.

"And why would you be wanting to know that?" The man squinted at him suspiciously. "She's not here. No more'n you three will be, unless I like the taste of your silver," Brien tossed him the coin. 

"He's got more," The boy said.

"So he does. Boy, go down and find me some onions,"

The lad raised the crossbow to his shoulder, gave them one last sullen look that lingered on Jaime, who bared her teeth, and then vanished into the cellar. The man waved the cleaver at the tables. 

"Might as well sit,"

She sat and stretched out her long legs under the table. The man cooked the horse meat for them whilst they drank, ale for Jaime and Cleos, a cup of cider for Brien. The young boy kept his distance, perching on the cider barrel with his loaded crossbow across his knees. The cook drew a tankard of ale and sat with them. 

"What news from Riverrun?" He asked Cleos, taking him for their leader. For the life of her, Jaime couldn't imagine why. _He's the oldest, perhaps. Or is that me?_ She frowned. Ser Cleos glanced at Brien before answering. 

The conversation soon moved onto their destination, King's Landing. The man pronounced them fools for even attempting the journey, before relenting and saying they should avoid the river at least. Jaime's eyes narrowed slightly the more he spoke, something about his manner seeming off to her, but she said nothing, for now. 

"We would need horses," Brien looked doubtful.

"There are horses here," She pointed out. "I heard one in the stable,"

"Aye, there are," Their host said. "Three of them, as it happens, but they're not for sale,"

"Of course not," Jaime had to laugh. "But you'll show them to us anyway,"

Brien scowled, but the man met his eyes without blinking, and after a moment, reluctantly said, "Show me,"

The stables had not been mucked out in a long while. Mounds of horse dung lay everywhere, but there were only the three horses to be seen; a lumbering brown plow horse, an ancient white gelding blind in one eye, and a knight's palfrey, dapple grey and spirited. 

"They're not for sale at any price," Their alleged owner announced. Jaime examined the saddlecloth, next to the palfrey's stall. It had originally been checkered pink and black, but now it was mostly brown. She did not recognise the original colours, but she recognised bloodstains easily enough.

"Well, her owner won't be coming to claim her anytime soon," She examined the palfrey's legs, counted the gelding's teeth, ignoring the looks she got. Her Uncle Gerion had taken her riding a lot as a girl, and he had a good eye for horses. "Give him a gold piece for the grey, if he'll include the saddle," She advised Brien. "A silver for the plow horse. He ought to pay us for taking the white off his hands,"

"Don't speak discourteously of your horse, my lady," The boy opened his purse. "I will pay you a dragon for each," The man blinked and reached for the gold, then hesitated and drew his hand back. 

"I don't know. I can't ride no golden dragon if I need to get away. Nor eat one if I'm hungry,"

"You can have our skiff as well," He said. "Sail up the river or down, as you like,"

"Let me have a taste o' that gold," The man took one of the coins and bit it. "Hm. Real enough, I'd say. Three dragons and the skiff?"

"He's robbing you blind, boy," Jaime said amiably.

"I'll want provisions too," Brien ignored her. "Whatever you have that you can spare,"

"There's more oatcakes," The man jingled the coins in his fist, smiling. "Aye, and smoked salt fish, but that will cost you silver. My beds will be costing as well. You'll be wanting to stay the night,"

"No," Brien said at once.

"Ser, you don't want to go riding at night through strange country on horses you don't know," The man frowned. "You're like to blunder into some bog or break your horse's leg,"

"The moon will be bright tonight," Brien said. "We'll have no trouble finding our way," Their host considered that. 

"If you don't have the silver, might be some coppers would buy you them beds, and a coverlet or two to keep you warm. It's not like I'm turning travelers away, if you get my meaning,"

"That sounds more than fair," Ser Cleos said.

"The coverlets is fresh washed, too. My wife saw to that before she had to go off. Not a flea to be found neither, you have my word on that," He jingled the coins again, smiling.

"A proper bed would do us all good, ser," Ser Cleos was plainly tempted. "We'd make better time on the morrow once refreshed," He looked to Jaime for support.

"No, coz, the lad is right. We have promises to keep, and long leagues before us. We ought ride on,"

"But," Cleos protested. "You said yourself - "

"Then," _When I thought the inn deserted_. "Now I have a full belly, and a moonlight ride will be just the thing," She smiled at the boy. "But unless you happen to find a side saddle lying around, and a horse trained to bear it, I'll need a pair of breeches. It's rather uncomfortable to sit astride in a dress," She had tried before, of course, and rubbed the inside of her legs raw. Brien frowned at her skirts. Their host rubbed his jaw. 

"Should be some old clothes left upstairs, there's likely something small enough,"

"Show me," Brien said.

"Yes," Jaime said. "And the sooner the better. There's far too much horse shit about here for my taste. I would hate for my skirts to trail in it," She gave the boy a look, wondering if he was bright enough to take her meaning.

She hoped Brien might leave her alone to search for a pair of roughly-fitting breeches so she could escape out of a back window, but he was still suspicious. He even stayed as she pulled on the garments she found - a pair of boy's breeches, rather small but the least mouldy ones there - under her skirts. With her hands bound as they were, she could not replace the filthy gown for a tunic or jerkin.

When Jaime suggested that he find her a pair of smallclothes to watch her change into as well, he ignored her, though he did agree to cut away the ragged remains of her skirts to her knees with his dagger. It looked absurd, but she would take that over being restricted by a long dress.

"Six miles downriver you'll see a burned village," Their host said as he was helping them saddle the horses. This time he directed his counsel at Brien. "The road splits there. If you turn south, you'll come on Ser Warren's stone towerhouse. It's a place best shunned. You'd do better to follow the track through the woods, south by east,"

"We shall," He answered. "You have my thanks,"

 _More to the point, he has your gold_. Jaime kept the thought to herself. She was tired of being disregarded by this huge ugly man.

Brien took the plow horse for himself and assigned the palfrey to Ser Cleos. As threatened, Jaime was given the one-eyed gelding, which put an end to any thoughts she might have had of giving her horse a kick and leaving the lad in her dust.

Ser Cleos was all complaints as they rode out, still mourning his lost featherbed. They rode east, along the bank of the moonlit river. Jaime's mount plodded along placidly, though the poor old thing had a tendency to want to drift off to the side of his good eye. It felt good to be mounted once more, and she idly twisted her fingers in the gelding's mane, patting its neck. She had not been on a horse since Lady Catelyn's men had killed her palfrey under her in the Whispering Wood. That horse had been a gift from Stannis... But her husband was dead too, and she wouldn't have to hear him grind his teeth over the matter. 

When they reached the burned village, a choice of equally unpromising farmer's tracks confronted them. One wandered southeast, while the other arrowed due south. Brien considered them briefly, and then swung his horse onto the southern road. Jaime was pleasantly surprised; it was the same choice she would have made.

"But this is the road the innkeep warned us against," Ser Cleos objected.

"He was no innkeep." Brien said. "The man took too great an interest in our choice of route, and those woods... such places are notorious haunts of outlaws. He may have been urging us into a trap,"

"Clever boy," Jaime smiled at her cousin. "Our host has friends down that road, I would venture. The ones whose mounts gave that stable such a memorable aroma,"

"He may have been lying about the river as well, to put us on these horses," The boy said. "But I could not take the risk. There will be soldiers at the ruby ford and the crossroads,"

 _Well, he may be ugly but he's not entirely stupid_. Jaime gave him a smile, which he gave a slightly awkward nod at.

Half the night passed before the boy allowed that it might be safe to stop. By then all three of them were exhausted, drooping in their saddles. The night was strangely peaceful. _The war has not touched this place_ , Jaime thought. She was glad to be here, glad to be alive, glad to be on her way back to her children, even back to Cersen, despite being angry at him still. _I'll scarce be able to recognise the little twins, they grow so fast at that age._ Would they even recognise her, thin and shorn as she was? _Arthur will likely have grown another head taller than me, and Helia will nearly be a woman._

"I'll take the first watch," Brien told Ser Cleos, and the knight was soon snoring softly.

Jaime didn't sleep. She sat leaning against an oak tree and wondered what Cersen and Tyrion were doing just now. Wondered about Orryn, Helia, all her children. Now she was out of Riverrun, the fears she had blocked out were creeping in again. Locked away, she could do nothing to help her children, and didn't want to drive herself mad thinking of everything that was happening whilst she rotted away in chains. Now, though, since that first day on the river, she couldn't seem to think of anything else, all eight of them constantly at the back of her mind. 

Since she had left, Joffrey had become king, Orryn a lord. With her father in the city, it was only a matter of time before her daughters were betrothed. Helia might even wed, given she'd be four-and-ten by now. The idea of her daughter marrying without her mother there was the kind of unpleasant thought Jaime had been trying to avoid during her captivity. 

"Do you have any siblings, ser?" She asked, because surely he'd have no children of his own.

"No," Brien squinted at her suspiciously. "I was my father's only child,"

"Heir to Tarth, then," Jaime said, tired of his manner. "Big and strong, but dull and pig-ugly. How the ladies must fall at your feet," She chuckled at his expression. "Have you ever even had a woman?" Wordless, he turned away from her, his knuckles tight on his sword hilt, and that was all the answer she needed. He reminded her of Stannis, in some queer way. Perhaps it was that thought that made her say, "I did not intend to give offence, Brien. Forgive me,"

"Your crimes are past forgiving, Kingslayer," _Why do I even try?_

"That name again," Jaime twisted idly at her chains. "Why do I enrage you so? I've never done you harm that I know of,"

"You've harmed others. Those who trusted you. The unsuspecting, the innocent - "

"The king?" It always came back to Aerys. "Don't presume to judge what you do not understand, boy,"

"My name is - "

"Brien, yes. Has anyone ever told you that you're as tedious as you are ugly?"

"You will not provoke me to anger, Kingslayer,"

"Oh, I might, if I cared enough to try," If she was good at anything, it was that.

"Why did you do it?" He glowered at her. "You were one of his wife's ladies, Elia Martell's close friend. You knew her, knew her children. Aerys took you in as his ward, you earned his trust, then stabbed him in the back whilst your father's men slaughtered the prince and princesses. Why?"

 _Why?_ What could she say that he might possibly understand? 

"I was a girl. Fifteen, at the start. To be one of the queen's ladies was a great honour," Though not so much for Jaime, who wanted to be back in the west with her brother. _And Elia_ was _my friend. I played with her children, little Rhaenys and baby Aegon. I killed their grandfather, though they'd thank me if they'd stayed alive long enough to see it._

"That is no answer," He said scornfully. _You would not like the truth_.

"You are not old enough to have known Aerys Targaryen," _Nor womanly enough to know what it's like being completely helpless, useless_. He would not hear it. 

"Aerys was mad and cruel, no one has ever denied that. He was still king, crowned and anointed. He trusted you, honoured you as his ward, and you stabbed him in the back," _I slit his throat with a stolen sword_. But she had long since stopped trying to correct people on that. They believed what they wanted to believe, and a knife in the back fit their idea of events so much better.

"He never trusted me. _Underestimating_ me was his folly," Jaime would've tossed her hair, had she had enough left. "And honoured me?" She laughed. "I was a hostage in all but name, boy,"

"That doesn't make what you did right," He loomed above her, six feet eight inches of freckled, frowning disapproval.

"What _you_ did as well. We're both kingslayers here, if what I've heard is true,"

"I never harmed Renly. I'll kill the man who says I did,"

"Best start with Cleos, then. And you'll have a deal of killing to do after that, the way he tells the tale,"

"Lies. Lady Catelyn was there when His Grace was murdered, she saw. There was a shadow. The candles guttered and the air grew cold, and there was blood - "

"Oh, very good," Jaime laughed. "Your wits are quicker than mine, ser, I confess it. When they found me standing over my dead king, I never thought to say, 'No, no, it wasn't me, it was a shadow, a terrible cold shadow.' " She laughed again. "Tell me true, one kingslayer to another—did the Starks pay you to slit his throat, or was it my son Joffrey? Or had Renly spurned your advances, was that the way of it?" Her smile sharpened. "You're not as pretty as dear Loras Tyrell, I fear,"

For a moment Jaime thought Brien might strike her. _A step closer, and I'll snatch that dagger from his sheath_. She gathered a leg under her, ready to spring, but the boy did not move. 

"It is a rare and precious gift to be a knight," He said. "And even more so a knight guarding the king. I would not scorn and soil my cloak that way,"

"Good for you," Jaime smiled. "But I'm no knight. I have little faith in them, personally. I have no cloak to scorn, no code of honour to adhere to, aside from keeping my legs shut until my wedding night," She leant back against the tree, eyes not leaving his. "Yet I killed a king nonetheless. Are knights the only ones who can pick up a sword and kill men who deserve to die? Does that make you any better than me? I'm so not sure it does,"

The look Brien gave her then was full of loathing. _He would gladly hack me to pieces, but for his precious vow_. The boy stalked off without saying a word, and she was glad for it. Jaime curled up beneath her cloak.

When she closed her eyes, Aerys Targaryen appeared before her, pacing alone in his throne room, picking at his scabbed and bleeding hands. His purple eyes stared at her, saw the blood on her stolen sword, and she saw his mouth open in a scream. In her dream, Jaime smiled. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again this was tricky as there was so much text I had to cut down, as there wasn't much difference with a female Jaime. Do you feel like Jaime in these ASOS chapters is consistent with the Jaime I wrote in the Before chapters (2 and 3)? 
> 
> All text from A Storm of Swords belongs to GRRM. If you feel like I'm taking too much from the original or not changing things enough, please let me know.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this chapter, thanks for reading!


	6. The Goat Of Harrenhal

At Maidenpool, Lord Mooton's banner flew above the castle on its hill, but the town was deserted, half the buildings burned or plundered. The pool from which the town took its name, where legend said that Florian had first glimpsed Jonquil bathing with her sisters, was so choked with rotting corpses that the water had become a grey-green soup.

Jaime took one look and burst into song. 

"Six maids there were in a spring-fed pool..."

"What are you doing?" Brien demanded. She just grinned at him. 

"Singing. 'Six Maids in a Pool,' I'm sure you've heard it. And shy little maids they were, too. I'll warrant a big ugly lad like you would've scared them off,"

"Be quiet," The boy looked like he would love to leave her floating among the corpses.

"Please, Jaime," Cleos said. "Lord Mooton is sworn to Riverrun, we don't want to draw him out of his castle. And there may be other enemies hiding in the rubble,"

"His or ours? They are not the same, coz," She gave Brien a sly look. "I'd rather like to see if the boy can use that sword he wears,"

"If you won't be quiet, you leave me no choice but to gag you, Kingslayer,"

"Unchain my hands and I'll play mute all the way to King's Landing. What could be fairer than that, boy?"

"Brien! My name is _Brien!"_

"Care for a bath, Brien?" She laughed. "You're a maiden boy and there's the pool. I'll wash your back," The boy turned his horse and trotted away, and Jaime, grinning, followed. 

"He's taking the Duskendale road," Cleos muttered. "It would be safer to follow the coast,"

"Safer but slower. I'm for Duskendale, coz. If truth be told, I'm bored with your company," _You may be half Lannister, but you're a far cry from my brother_. Whether they were fighting or fucking, Cersen was at least more interesting than this weasel of a Frey.

Jaime could never bear to be long apart from her twin. It just felt wrong, even now, even when the anger she felt against him still burned hot. It had always been that way. She remembered their mother's maid catching them doing gods know what; Lady Joanna's horrified fury at whatever they'd been doing had resulted in Cersen's bedchamber being moved to the other side of Casterly Rock. They need not have feared, though, as she had died not long after. Jaime barely remembered what her mother had looked like. _If I die on this road, how long will it take my face to fade? Will Steffon and the twins remember only a faceless golden shadow as their mother?_ She supposed that was better than the older ones, who would only remember a lying whore.

Once, long ago, she might have thought that their enemies had done them a kindness in spreading their tale of incest all over the Seven Kingdoms, so there was nothing left to hide. That was before she had become a mother. Jaime had not seen any of her children in nearly a year, and dreaded what they'd have to say when they met again. She had long since stopped caring what Joffrey thought of her, but didn't think she could stand it if any of her trueborn children looked at her in hate and judgement, like so many others had before them. And Myrcella, gods... Joff was mad and cruel, but Myrcella did not deserve to be named a bastard, an abomination, simply due to her honourless mother.

They were riding past a trampled wheatfield and a low stone wall when she heard a soft _thrum_ from behind. 

"Down!" She threw herself against the neck of her horse. The gelding screamed and reared as an arrow took him in the rump. Other shafts went hissing past. Jaime saw Cleos lurch from the saddle, twisting his foot in the stirrup. As his palfrey bolted, he was dragged along the ground, head bouncing. She might have tried to catch his horse, but her gelding was lumbering off the other way, blowing and snorting in pain, with the air still full of arrows. 

Brien was still ahorse, an arrow lodged in his back and another in his leg, but he seemed not to feel them. She saw him draw his sword and wheel in a circle, searching for the bowmen. 

"Behind the wall," She called, wrestling her half-blind mount back toward the fight. The reins were tangled in her damned chains. _What was it Daven said about bowmen?_ "At them!" She kicked, hard. The old sorry horse found a burst of speed from somewhere, and suddenly they were racing across the wheatfield. _The boy had better follow before they realise they're being charged by a woman in chains_.

Then Brien's plow horse thundered by, as he brandished his longsword. The last few arrows sped harmlessly past, then the bowmen broke and ran. Brien reined up at the wall. By the time Jaime reached him, the archers had melted into the woods. 

"Lost your taste for battle?" She raised an eyebrow. 

"They were running,"

"Isn't that the best time to kill them?" Or so Daven had told her. During a drunken night travelling into the Riverlands, he had mentioned that unsupported bowmen always fled before the charge of knights. Jaime was glad that half-remembered theory had proved true. "You have an arrow in your back, you know, and your leg. I spent my childhood with a septa pressing a needle into my hand, you ought to let me tend them,"

"You?"

"Who else? The last I saw of cousin Cleos, his palfrey was using his head to plow a furrow. Though I suppose we ought to find him. He _is_ a Lannister of sorts,"

They found Cleos still tangled in his stirrup, and very dead. The top of his head was a mess of blood and bone. It looked mushy to the touch, though Jaime had no wish to find out if that was true.

"He's still warm," Brien had knelt and held his hand.

"He'll cool soon enough. I want his horse and his clothes. I'm weary of ragged dresses, being cold and fleas," 

"He was your cousin," The boy was shocked.

"Was," Jaime agreed. "Have no fear, I am amply provisioned in cousins. I'll have his sword as well. You need someone to share the watches," She was sorry on some level that Cleos was dead, but they had hardly been close, and she would rather be honest and gain something, than play the grieving woman. _He believes me a monster regardless_.

"You can stand a watch without weapons," He rose.

"Chained to a tree? Perhaps I could," She smiled sharply. "Or perhaps I could make my own bargain with the next lot of outlaws and let them slit that thick neck of yours, boy,"

"I will not arm you. And my name is -"

"Brien, I know. I'll swear an oath not to harm you, if that will ease your childish fears,"

"Your oaths are worthless. Aerys is proof of that,"

"You haven't cooked anyone in their armour so far as I know. And we both want me safe and whole in King's Landing, don't we?" She knelt and began to undo Cleos' swordbelt.

"Step away from him. Now. Stop that." _You talk as if I'm a disobedient child_.

Jaime was tired. Tired of his suspicions, tired of his insults, tired of his broad face and crooked teeth. She grasped the hilt of her cousin's longsword with both hands, held the corpse down with her foot, and pulled. As the blade slid from the scabbard, she was already pivoting, bringing the sword around in a deadly arc. Steel met steel; somehow Brien had gotten his own blade out in time. 

"Very good, boy," She laughed. It felt good to hold a blade again. The weight of it was familiar in her grip, reassuring, bringing a feeling of strength she had been missing for nearly a year.

"Give me the sword, Kingslayer," She liked the wariness in his eyes. There was no feeling quite like a big strong man like that taking her for a serious threat. _Almost as satisfying as the realisation in the eyes of a man who has disdained me when he realises I'm better than he is_.

"Oh, I will," She sprang forward, the longsword alive in her hands. Brien jumped back, parrying, but she pressed the attack. No sooner did she turn one cut than the next was upon her. Jaime's blood was singing. She rarely felt so alive as when she was fighting.

She rained down steel upon him, so quick most couldn't have followed her, always attacking, moving into him, step and slide, strike and step, hacking, slashing, faster, faster, faster... until, breathless, she stepped back, giving him a moment of respite. 

"Not half bad," Jaime acknowledged. "For a green boy," He took a slow deep breath, still wary, evidently realising that Catelyn Stark's sour-faced warning - that she was 'surprisingly good with a blade' - didn't even begin to cover it. 

"I would not hurt you, Kingslayer," Her lips curled into a smirk.

"As if you could," She whirled the blade up above her head and flew at him again.

Jaime drove him across the road, into the trees. He stumbled once on a root, but went to one knee instead of falling, and never lost a beat, sword leaping up to block her downcut, and then he cut at _her_ , fighting his way back to his feet stroke by stroke. She followed him through a shallow brook, steel ringing and screaming, and Brien started grunting like a pig, yet somehow she could not reach him. It was as if he had an iron cage around him that stopped every blow.

"Not bad at all," She paused to catch her breath.

"For a green boy?" 

"Exactly," Jaime laughed raggedly, breathless. "Come on, come on, my sweetling, the music's still playing. Might I have this dance, ser?"

Grunting, he came at her, and suddenly it was Jaime struggling to keep steel from skin. One of his slashes caught her brow, and blood ran down into her right eye. _The Others take him, and Riverrun as well!_ Her hard-won skills had gone to rust in that bloody dungeon, her body wasted away. Her eye closed, her shoulders were going numb, and her wrists ached from the weight of chains, manacles, and sword, which grew heavier with every blow. Jaime knew she was not swinging it as quickly as she'd done earlier.

 _He never underestimated me_.

She was finally realising what that meant, and it chilled her. The boy was closer to seven feet than six, and built like an aurochs; it was obvious that he was stronger than Jaime could ever hope to be. But it did not matter; nearly all of her opponents were larger and stronger than she was. With speed and skill - and the element of surprise - Jaime could beat them all. Yet despite his size, Ser Brien of Tarth was scarily quick.

Most men underestimated Jaime, expecting her to be good with a hidden knife or poison, never so knightly a weapon as a sword. So she unleashed hell on them from the very start, catching them off guard to win as soon as possible. If that didn't work then it still tired them rapidly in their haste to to finish things as soon as possible, so as not to have people say they struggled to beat a woman. The boy should be the one wearing down, not her.

Instead he forced her back into the brook.

"Yield! Throw down the sword!" Brien shouted. She slipped on a slick stone, and twisted into a diving lunge as she fell, her sword slashing his thigh. Jaime had an instant to savour the sight of his blood before her knee slammed into a rock. The pain was blinding. Brien kicked away her sword. "YIELD!"

She drove her shoulder into his legs, catching him by surprise on the uneven ground and bringing all six foot eight of him down on top of her. 

It was like the occasion her horse had tripped and fallen with her. _Not such a good idea in hindsight_. The wind went out of her as she gasped in pain, though didn't stop her fighting. They rolled, kicking and punching and clawing, but without a sword, Jaime had lost her advantage and it wasn't long before he was sitting astride her. She managed to jerk his dagger from its sheath, but he caught her wrist and slammed her hands back on a rock so hard she thought he'd wrenched an arm from its socket. 

"Yield!" He shoved her head down, held it under, pulled it up. "Yield!" Jaime spat water into his face. Under she went again, kicking uselessly, fighting to breathe. "Yield, or I'll drown you!"

"And break your oath?" She snarled. "Like I did?" He let her go, and she went down with a splash. 

And the woods rang with coarse laughter.

Brien lurched to his feet. He was all mud and blood, his clothing askew, his face red. _He looks as if they caught us fucking instead of fighting_. Armed men lined both sides of the brook.

"Well met, friends," Jaime called amiably. "My pardons if we disturbed you. You caught me and my husband in a little row,"

"Looked more like a rape than a _little row_ ," A big man with no nose snorted.

These were not the outlaws who had killed Ser Cleos, Jaime realised. The scum of the earth surrounded them. She knew them, they'd been with her father's armies at Casterly Rock. _The Brave Companions_. But did they know her?

"I have a hundred stags - " Brien started, finding his voice.

"We'll take that for a start, ser," A cadaverous man cut him off.

"Then we'll have her cunt," Noseless nodded at Jaime with a leer. "Woman who looks like that can't be happy with an ugly fucker like you," She bared her teeth.

"Touch me and I'll enjoy ripping your cock off,"

"That smile's fucking annoying," He replied. "I'll wipe it off your face soon enough,"

"Turn her over and rape her arse, Rorge," A Dornish spearman urged. "That way you won't need to look at her,"

"And rob her o' the pleasure o' looking at _me_?" Noseless said, and the others laughed.

Jaime looked wryly at Brien, whose eyes had widened, but his mouth swiftly twisted in righteous anger. _What did you expect, courtly pleasantries?_

"She is a highborn lady," The boy said through gritted teeth. _Oh, perfect, thank you ser_. That turned everyone's eyes onto her. She saw the spark of recognition in several pairs of eyes, heard the mutter of _Kingslayer_ being spread around, although the fear of any consequences for their crude speech a minute ago wasn't quite as strong as she would like. _Something's wrong_. One way to find out.

"Who commands here?" Jaime demanded.

"I have that honour, Lady Jaime," The cadaver said. "Urswyck, I am,"

"You know who I am?"

"It takes more than mud and cut hair to deceive the Brave Companions," _The Bloody Mummers, you mean_. 

"If you know me, Urswyck, you know you'll have your reward. A Lannister always pays their debts. As for the boy, he's highborn, and worth a good ransom,"

"Is it so?" Urswyck cocked his head. "How fortunate," There was something sly about the way the man was smiling that Jaime did not like. 

"You heard me. Where's the goat?"

"A few hours distant. He will be pleased to see you, I have no doubt, but I would not call him a goat to his face. Lord Vargo grows prickly about his dignity," _Since when has that slobbering savage had dignity?_

"I'll be sure and remember that, when I see him. Lord of what, pray?"

"Harrenhal. It has been promised," _Harrenhal? Has my father taken leave of his senses?_

"I'll have these chains off," Jaime raised her hands, despite her unease growing. Urswyck's chuckle was paper dry. _Something is very wrong here_. She smiled, giving no sign of her discomfort. "Did I say something amusing?"

"You're the funniest thing I seen since Biter chewed that septa's teats off," Noseless grinned.

"Your father lost too many battles. We now serve Lord Bolton, and the King in the North,"

"And men say _I_ have shit for honour?" Jaime gave him a cold, contemptuous smile.

Urswyck was unhappy with that. At his signal, two men grasped Jaime by the arms and Rorge backhanded her across the face. As she staggered, gritting her teeth so as not to cry out, she heard the boy protesting.

"Stop, she's not to be harmed! Lady Catelyn sent us, an exchange of captives, she's under my protection," Rorge hit her again, making blood bubble up in her mouth. _Gods, boy, shut up_. Brien dove for his sword, but the Mummers were already on him.

It took five of them to beat him into submission. By the end the boy's face was as swollen and bloody as Jaime's must have been. Stumbling and bleeding, the two captives were dragged back through the woods to the horses, Brien limping from the thigh wound she'd given him. Jaime felt sorry for him, but not as sorry as she felt for herself. They would rape her tonight, she had no doubt. That noseless bastard would have her for a certainty, and some of the others would likely take a turn. Although hopefully she'd manage to make them kill her before the numbers climbed too high.

"I hope you're pleased, boy," Jaime whispered at Brien, after they were bound back to back on his plow horse. To her irritation, she was the one facing backwards. She spat out a mouthful of blood. "If you'd armed me, we'd never have been taken," He made no answer. _There's a pig-stubborn fool_. _But brave, too_. She could not take that from him. "When we make camp for the night, I'll be raped, and more than once," She told him flatly. "You'd be wise not to fight them again, you'll lose more than a few teeth," She felt Brien's back stiffen. 

"Is that what _you_ would do, if you were a man?" _If I were a man I'd be Cersen_. 

"If I were a man, it wouldn't be an issue. But I'm not," Jaime kicked their horse to a trot, using her right leg more strongly so as to steer left without the reins, and Brien didn't stop her. "Urswyck! A word!" The sellsword fell in beside her. 

"What would you have of me, my lady? And mind your tongue, or I'll chastise you again,"

"Gold," Jaime said. "You do like gold?" It was a challenge to seem dignified with her arms bound at her sides as she faced backwards on a horse, but she held her head high nonetheless.

"It has its uses, I do confess," Urswyck studied her. Jaime gave him a knowing smile. 

"All the gold in Casterly Rock. Why let the goat enjoy it? Why not take us to King's Landing, and collect my ransom for yourself? His as well, if you like. Tarth is called the Sapphire Isle, a boy told me once," Brien squirmed at that, but said nothing.

"Do you take me for a turncloak?"

"Certainly. What else?"

"King's Landing is a long way, and your father is there," Urswyck considered it. "Lord Tywin may resent us for selling Harrenhal to Lord Bolton," _He's cleverer than he looks_. Jaime had been been looking forward to hanging him while his pockets bulged with gold. 

"Leave me to deal with my father. I'll get you a royal pardon for any crimes you have committed. I'll get you a knighthood,"

"Ser Urswyck," The man savoured the sound. "How proud my dear wife would be to hear it. If only I hadn't killed her," He sighed. "And what of brave Lord Vargo?"

"Shall I sing you a verse of 'The Rains of Castamere'? Are you such a fool as to think the goat can outfight the lion?" Urswyck leaned over and slapped her lazily across the face. The sheer casual insolence of it was worse than the blow itself. _He does not fear me_. 

"I have heard enough, Kingslayer. I would have to be a great fool indeed to believe the promises of a murderous whore like you," _Hypocrite_. He kicked his horse and galloped ahead. _So much for that_. Jaime leant her head against Brien's broad back. 

"Why did you tell him Tarth was the Sapphire Isle?" The boy whispered. "He's like to think my father's rich in gemstones,"

"You best pray he does,"

"Is every word you say a lie, Kingslayer? Tarth is called the Sapphire Isle for the blue of its waters,"

"Shout it a little louder, boy, I don't think Urswyck heard you. The sooner they know how little you're worth in ransom, the sooner they slit your throat and leave you dead at the side of the road. As it is now, of the two of us, you have it best. Every man here will mount me, but what do you care? Perhaps they might even let you take a turn,"

Mercifully, that shut his mouth for a time.

They found Vargo Hoat sacking a small sept with another dozen Brave Companions. The goat was seated by a cookfire eating a half-cooked bird, grease and blood running into his long stringy beard. He wiped his hands on his tunic and rose. 

"Kingthlayer," He slobbered. "You are my captifth,"

"My lord, I am Ser Brien of Tarth," The boy called out. "Lady Catelyn Stark commanded me to deliver Lady Jaime to her brother at King's Landing," The goat gave him a disinterested glance. 

"Thilence him,"

"Hear me," Brien cried as Rorge cut the ropes that bound him to Jaime. "In the name of the King in the North, the king you serve, please, listen - " Rorge dragged him off the horse and began to kick him. 

"See that you don't break any bones," Urswyck called out. "The horse-faced fucker's worth his weight in sapphires,"

Two of them pulled Jaime down from the saddle and dragged her toward the fire, leering, hands all over her as they did so. She could have grasped one of their sword hilts as they manhandled her, but there were too many, and she was still in fetters. She might cut down one or two, but in the end she would die for it.

"Thith ith a thweet day," Hoat said. Around his neck hung a chain of linked coins. _Coins from every land where he has fought_. Greed was the key to this man. _If he was turned once, he can be turned again_.

"Lord Vargo, you were foolish to leave my father's service, but it is not too late to make amends. He will pay well for me, you know it,"

"Oh yeth," Hoat said. "Half the gold in Cathterly Rock, I thall have. But firth I mutht thend him a methage," He said something in his slithery tongue.

A jester in motley kicked her legs out from under her. When Jaime hit the ground on her knees, wincing in pain, one man grabbed the chain between her wrists and used it to yank her arms above her head, whilst the fat Dothraki unsheathed a huge curved _arakh_.

 _They mean to scare me_. The fool giggled as he tore open the front of her ruined dress, exposing her breasts as the Dothraki swaggered toward her. _The goat wants me to piss myself, cry and weep and beg his mercy, but he'll never have that pleasure_. She was a Lannister; no sellsword would make her scream.

Sunlight ran silver along the edge of the blade as it came shivering down, almost too fast to see. And Jaime screamed.


	7. Misery

Her chest burned.

Jaime had never known there could be such pain. Sometimes, unbidden, old prayers bubbled from her lips, prayers she learned as a child and never thought of since. Sometimes she even wept, until she heard the Mummers laughing, so she made her eyes go dry and her heart go dead.

After the second time she fell from the saddle, they bound her tight to Brien and made them share a horse again. One day they bound them face-to-face, forcing Jaime's legs awkwardly over his. 

"The lovers," Shagwell the fool sighed loudly. "And what a lovely sight they are. 'Twould be cruel to separate the good knight and his lady," Then he laughed that shrill laugh of his. "Ah, but which one is the knight and which one is the lady?"

 _If I had a sword, you'd learn that matters little_. Her right eye was swollen shut, her legs were numb from the ropes and there was nothing to repair her dress where the fool had ripped it open, but after a while none of that mattered. She was beyond caring who saw her at that point. Her world shrunk to the throb of agony in her chest, and Brien pressed against her. He was warm, at least, though his breath was as foul as her own.

Jaime slipped in and out of consciousness. Her throat was so raw that she could not eat, but she drank wine or water when they gave it to her. Once they handed her a cup and she quaffed it straight away, trembling, and the Brave Companions burst into laughter. 

"That's horse piss you're drinking, Kingslayer," Jaime was so thirsty she drank it anyway, but retched it all back up. They made Brien wash the vomit off her dress.

One morning when she was feeling slightly stronger, a madness took hold of her and she reached for the Dornishman's sword and wrenched it from its scabbard, the movement violently stretching the hardly healing wound and making her stagger in agony. _Let them kill me,_ _so long as I die fighting, a blade in hand_. But it was no good. Shagwell came hopping from leg to leg, dancing nimbly aside when Jaime slashed at him. It felt like her body itself was being ripped open every time she moved. She staggered forward with a cry of pain, clutching her chest with her left hand and hacking wildly at the fool with her right, but Shagwell spun and ducked and darted until all the Mummers were laughing at Jaime's futile efforts. When she tripped and stumbled to her knees, the fool leapt in, grabbed her hair and planted a long, wet kiss on her lips that made her spit in revulsion. Rorge finally kicked the sword away as she tried to bring it up. 

"That wath amuthing, Kingthlayer," Hoat said. "But if you try it again, I thall take your hand, or perhapth a foot,"

Jaime lay on her back afterward, staring at the night sky, trying not to feel the pain that snaked up her every time she breathed. The moon was a graceful crescent, and it seemed as though she had never seen so many stars. _How can such a night be so beautiful?_

"Jaime," Brien whispered. "Jaime, what are you doing?"

"Dying," She whispered back, half-serious. She didn't want to die, of course, she wanted to get back to her children, her family... but dying would be so easy. 

"No," He said. "No, you must live," She wanted to laugh. 

"Stop telling me what do, boy. I'll die if it pleases me,"

"Are you so craven?"

The word shocked her. No one had ever called Jaime craven. Knights normally lumped cravens and women into the same worthless category. Other things they called her, yes; whore, liar, murderess, Kingslayer. They said she was cruel, treacherous, mad. A weak woman led by her desires. But never craven. Craven implied they expected more. 

"What would you have me do, then?"

"Live," He said. "Live, and fight, and take revenge," But he spoke too loudly. Rorge heard his voice, if not his words, and came over to kick him, shouting at him to hold his tongue if he wanted to keep it.

 _Craven_ , Jaime thought, as Brien fought to stifle his moans.

The boy had the right of it. She could not die. Her children surely loathed her by now, but she couldn't die without seeing them again. _Tyrion, Father... Cersen_. And her enemies were waiting too; the Young Wolf, Edmure Tully who had kept her in chains, these Brave Companions.

When morning came, she made herself eat, and again at evenfall, and the next day. _Live_ , she told herself harshly, when the mush, meant for the horses, was like to gag her _. Orryn and Helia, Arthur, Myrcella, Steffon, Roanna and Argella. Live for vengeance. A Lannister always pays their debts_. Her children's names became a prayer, as the missing breast she had nursed them at throbbed and burned and stank. _One day I'll rip out Vargo Hoat's throat with my bare hands._ At least he hadn't taken her hands _._ There would be no living for her after that _._

The days and nights blurred together in a haze of pain. Brien was always bound beside her to a tree at night, not saying a word. _The boy has built a fortress inside himself_. _Good, it works. They will rape me soon enough, but behind my walls they cannot touch me_. But Jaime's walls were weakened. They had taken half of what made her a woman, mutilated her in a way designed for one of her sex. She still had her sword hand, though. She still had her pride.

One day, she heard Urswyck say something about Harrenhal, and remembered that was their destination. That made her laugh aloud, which made Timeon slash her face with a long whip. The cut bled, another scar, but beside her chest she scarcely felt it. 

"Why did you laugh?" Brien asked her that night.

"Harrenhal was where it all began," She whispered. "Whent's great tourney. He wanted to show us all his big castle and his fine sons. I wanted to show them too. I was only fifteen, a stupid little girl...if only she could see me now," She laughed again, and they heard. That night it was Jaime who got the kicks and punches. She hardly felt them, until Rorge slammed a boot into her chest, and then she fainted.

It was the next night when they finally came, three of the worst; Shagwell, noseless Rorge, and Zollo. They were arguing about who would go first as they approached. _They will leave me a cripple inside, where it does not show_. 

"Boy," She whispered as Zollo and Rorge cursed one another. "Let them have what they want. You go far away. Don't try and fight, for gods sake. I want this over quickly, you'll only make it worse,"

"I can't just sit here and watch," He whispered back, defiant. _Stupid stubborn brave fool_. He was going to get himself killed. _And what do I care if he does?_

"Let them do it, and go away inside. I know I will," That was what she'd done, whenever she was witness to Aerys' cruelties. "Please," She resorted, teeth gritted. _It's as if it's going to be harder for him than for me_. "If you fight, you'll die, and they'll only come back the next night and do it again," But Rorge had won the argument by then. 

"They say you're the most beautiful woman in Westeros," He said. "All I see is a filthy old whore with only one tit, but don't think I can't make you uglier. You want a nose like mine? Fight me, and you'll get one. And two eyes, that's too many. One scream out o' you, and I'll pop one out and make you eat it, and then I'll pull your fucking teeth out one by one,"

"Oh, do it, Rorge," Shagwell cackled. "Without her teeth, she'll almost look just like my dear old mother. And I _always_ wanted to fuck my mother up the arse,"

"There's a funny fool," Jaime said with a smile. She felt sick. She could scream, but she wouldn't put it past this one to do exactly what he'd threatened before Hoat arrived, and leave her alive afterwards too. _A one-eyed and one-breasted old whore? Sounds like a bad joke_. She had told Brien before that she'd make them kill her sooner than let herself be raped, but when it came to it, she found she couldn't die without seeing her children again. _Orryn and Helia, Arthur, Myrcella, Steffon, Roanna and Argella_.

As they untied her from the tree, she gave Brien one last sharp look. Horrified, innocent sapphire blue eyes met hers - they were what nearly made her break - and Jaime prayed he did as he was told.

Her dress was already ruined, ripped down the middle by Shagwell the day they were captured. They seemed to have learned from the other night not to touch her chest - of course they wanted her conscious through this, they probably got hard by seeing the pain they caused - but that didn't mean every tiny twist of her body wasn't agony. Rorge grabbed her from where she sat against the tree, shoving her onto her back. Roots and stones dug into her skin as he tried to wrench her legs apart, but she clamped them firmly shut. She knew she should just let them get it over with, but Jaime was unable to simply lie back and take it.

He won eventually, of course, backhanding her across the face and yanking her breeches away. As he roughly took her, to the jeers and laughter of the other two, she tried to go away inside. It was worse than Robert, worse than anything, she wanted nothing more than to rip his throat out with her own teeth. She fought the urge to scream, to make him kill her, by reciting her own prayer of her children's names. Any bastard that came of this encounter, Jaime swore viciously to herself, she would kill in the womb the second she had the chance. She gritted her teeth, refusing to make a sound, refusing to let them enjoy it. 

_Stop. Stop, you're hurting me_. The memory came unbidden to her mind. But she was not Rhaella. Jaime knew begging would make no difference. _I swore to myself then that I would never let a man take their pleasure of me through force, that I would die before that happened_. What would that girl think of her now?

By the time Zollo took over, Brien was clearly forgetting what she'd told him, protesting and struggling furiously against his bindings. This earned him a brutal blow to the head from Rorge that left him dazed and groaning, slumped against the tree. Jaime thought of how the boy had hated her before; now she was a helpless woman on her back in the dirt, rather than a sharp-tongued bitch with a sword, he was ready to kill himself to _save_ her. 

She sneered, sitting up slightly to give him a warning look before she was shoved back down again, but in her head she could recognise that she did him a disservice. Jaime doubted that the reason why he was so angered by this she had been turned into a damsel in distress who needed rescue. He was brave, she had to give him that. _Too good for this world_.

Shagwell was the last and the worst, taunting and mocking and vile, his hands running all over her, acting as if she was enjoying it. _I'll kill you piece by piece, and feed you to the dogs_ , she swore, going over the graphic images in her head, exactly how she'd do it, how she'd drag it out, how she'd make him scream for a mercy she wouldn't give. Jaime had never been so furious, so _humiliated_. She had never wanted anyone dead more. 

But then it was over. They tied her up again beside Brien, having offered him a turn as she had predicted. The look he had given them at that made Jaime laugh rather hysterically, earning herself another blow to the face.

Once they had gone, she said nothing. She could tell Brien was struggling for words, but she ignored him, staring resolutely into the darkness, slumped against the tree. 

"Jaime," He reached out a hand for her slightly, perhaps to check she hadn't passed out, and to her anger and embarrassment, she flinched away instinctively. 

She might as well have struck him, from the horror on his face. Absurdly, the look in Brien's blue eyes made her want to cry. _Get over yourself, woman_.

"If you tell a soul of that," Jaime swore, hating the way her voice shook slightly. "I'll say you joined in, then kill you myself," No one would know of this, of that she was certain. The idea of her sons and daughters hearing that their mother had been violated by three savages, and that she had largely let them do it, was unthinkable. The idea of Cersen finding out was worse. 

She spent the night against the tree, sore and aching and shaking with rage, having wrapped the tatters of her dress around herself as best she could, her breeches left out of reach. She didn't sleep, couldn't sleep, and by morning a crowd of men had gathered, jeering at where the rags barely covered her. Hoat, however, had been furious.

"Thee'th not to be touched," The goat screamed, spraying spittle. _Too late._ "Thee is my hothtage," From then on, every night Hoat put guards on them, to protect them from his own.

"Jaime?" The boy had been silent until they were bound together on the plow horse - front to front again, unfortunately - perhaps due to guilt or awkwardness, most likely both. _I bet that was the first glimpse he's got between a woman's legs_. Now, however, Brien seemed to have worked up the courage to talk to her. "I'll kill them," 

"Do you want me to thank you?" Jaime asked. "If I had a knife, they'd be dead already," Thankfully she had stopped flinching away from anyone's touch, but her anger still burned hot and furious. Jaime was not used to feelings of shame or embarrassment - the closest she had come to it was when Ashara found her underneath Robert - but then again, she had never been raped by three savages in front of a young knight before.

"I'm sorry," The apology surprised her.

"What for?"

"I let it happen. I let them - " He broke off. 

"So did I," She shrugged as best she could. "Use your wits, boy. This lot would have killed both of us if we hadn't. Well, perhaps Hoat would have stopped them killing you. Good thing I'm such a liar. The goat wants his thapphireth, after all," She chuckled darkly. "Do you think I can make him say it?" She glanced up to see Brien's lip twitch weakly. "Come on, if you're really that sorry, the least you can do is not look so miserable. It wasn't _you_ they raped," She could still feel their hands on her, and wanted nothing more than to scrub herself so clean that her skin bled, scrub away the filth and the pain. But of course, that was impossible.

The goat wanted to make a show of parading her in, so Jaime was made to dismount a mile from Harrenhal. She had been given a cloak, as her dress was next to useless as a garment now, but with her hands bound it was almost impossible to cover herself properly. A rope was looped around her wrists, a second around Brien's, the ends tied to Vargo Hoat's saddle.

Jaime's rage kept her stumbling along. The linen that covered her wound was grey and stinking with pus. Her chest screamed with every step, and the pain between her legs had not gone away. _I am stronger than they know_. _I am still a Lannister_. She would reach Harrenhal, and then King's Landing. She would live. _And I will pay this debt with interest_.

As they approached the clifflike walls, Brien squeezed her arm. 

"Lord Bolton holds this castle. The Boltons are bannermen to the Starks,"

"The Boltons skin their enemies," Jaime remembered that much. Tyrion would have known all there was to know about the Lord of the Dreadfort, but Tyrion was a thousand leagues away, with her children, with Cersen. _I cannot die while they live_. _Cersen and I will die together as we were born together_. In the nights after those three had come, she had dreamt of her twin, being safe in his arms, only for Cersen's face to twist into that of Rorge or Shagwell as he forced her onto her back. 

"The banners," Brien observed. "Flayed man and twin towers, see. King Robb's sworn men. There, above the gatehouse, grey on white. They fly the direwolf," Jaime twisted her head upward to look. 

"That's your bloody wolf, true enough," She granted. "And those are heads to either side of it,"

Soldiers, servants, and camp followers gathered to hoot at them. A spotted bitch followed them through the camps barking until one of the Lyseni impaled her on a lance and galloped to the front of the column. 

"I am bearing Kingslayer's banner," He shouted, shaking the dead dog above Jaime's head. _Charming_.

Vargo Hoat had sent two men ahead, so the outer ward was full of curious people. They gave way as Jaime staggered past, the rope around her wrists jerking and pulling at her whenever she slowed. She had given up trying to keep herself fully covered by the cloak. It was less humiliating than struggling in vain, given the whole castle would see her bare either way. 

"I give you the _Kingthlayer_ ," Hoat proclaimed. A spear jabbed at Jaime's back, sending her sprawling. When her arms smashed against the ground to stop the fall, jolting and stretching her wound, the pain was blinding, yet somehow she managed to fight her way back to her knees. Five knights and a northman stood looking down on her from the steps. 

"A fury of Freys," Jaime pushed herself upright in the dirt. "Ser Danwell, Ser Aenys, Ser Hosteen. You have my condolences,"

"For what, my lady?" Ser Danwell asked, seeming rather stunned to see her like this, blinking as though struggling to comprehend that it was really her. Aenys seemed rather amused; his eyes kept glancing downwards.

"Your brother's son, Ser Cleos," Jaime said. "He was with us until outlaws filled him full of arrows. Urswyck and this lot took his goods and left him for the wolves,"

"My lords!" Brien wrenched himself free. "I saw your banners. Hear me for your oath!"

"Who speaks?" Aenys Frey demanded.

"Lannither'th wet nurth,"

"I am Ser Brien of Tarth, son of Lord Selwyn the Evenstar, and sworn to House Stark even as you are," 

"That's for your oaths," Aenys spat at his feet. "We trusted the word of Robb Stark, and he repaid our faith with betrayal," _Now this is interesting_. But Brien was as singleminded as a mule. 

"I know of no betrayal. Lady Catelyn commanded me to deliver Lady Lannister to her brother at King's Landing," _Lady Baratheon, boy. You forget I was married_. 

"He was trying to drown her when we found them," Urswyck said. "Or fuck her, not sure which," Brien reddened.

"In anger I forgot myself, but I would never have killed her. If she dies the Lannisters will put my lady's daughters to the sword,"

"Why should that trouble us?" Ser Aenys was unmoved.

"Ransom her back to Riverrun," Ser Danwell urged.

"Casterly Rock has more gold," 

"Kill her! Her head for Ned Stark's!"

Shagwell somersaulted to the foot of the steps in his motley and began to sing. 

"There once was a lion who danced with a bear, oh my, oh my," Jaime wished it was him on the end of a spear rather than the spotted bitch. _I'd enjoy taking his rotting corpse as my banner_.

"Thilenth, fool," Hoat cuffed the man. "The Kingthlayer ith not for the bear. Thee ith mine,"

"She is no one's should she die," Roose Bolton spoke so softly that men quieted to hear him. "And pray recall, my lord, you are not master of Harrenhal till I march north," Fever made Jaime as fearless as she was lightheaded. 

"Can this be the Lord of the Dreadfort? When last I heard, my father had sent you scampering off with your tail betwixt your legs," Bolton's silence was a hundred times more threatening than Vargo Hoat's slobbering malevolence. 

"You have been... injured," The flatness of her bandages was visible where her hands were not free to pull the cloak around herself.

"I'm glad you noticed," Jaime said. "Though I'd rather the rest of the yard did not," Bolton reached down, cut the bindings on her wrists, and flung the bloody ropes at Hoat.

"Next time, do not parade a highborn lady half-naked through the castle," He said. "Take that away," Jaime's hands were stiff and sore, but she was able to pull the cloak over herself.

"I will thend a letter to her lord father. I will tell him he muth pay one hundred thouthand dragonth, or we thall return the Kingthlayer to him pieth by pieth. And when we hath hith gold, we thall deliver Lady Jaime to Karthark, and collect a maiden too!" A roar of laughter went up from the Brave Companions.

"A fine plan," Bolton said dryly. "Though Lord Karstark will not be giving you his daughter. King Robb has shortened him by a head, for treason and murder. As to Lord Tywin, he remains at King's Landing, and there he will stay till the new year, when his grandson takes for bride a daughter of Highgarden,"

"You mean Winterfell," Brien said. "King Joffrey is betrothed to Sansa Stark,"

"No longer. The rose and the lion have joined together. Mace Tyrell offers his daughter Margaery for the king's bride,"

 _I warned you, Urswyck_ , _and you, goat. When you bet against the lions, you lose more than your purse_. She did spare a pitying thought for poor, unsuspecting Margaery Tyrell, who would soon be at the mercy of her vile son. 

"Is there word of my other children?" She asked. "My brothers?"

"The Lord Regent is well. As are, so far as I know, all eight of your children," Bolton paused. "Your younger brother also lives," He beckoned to a dour northman. "Escort Lady Jaime to Qyburn. And unbind this man's hands," He turned to Brien. "Pray forgive us, Ser. In such troubled times it is hard to know friend from foe," Brien rubbed inside his wrist where, like Jaime, the hemp had scraped his skin bloody. 

"My lord, these men... tried to violate a highborn lady." _Tried_. At least he had the sense not to blurt the truth about across the yard _. Lie better, boy, or keep your mouth shut_.

"Did they?" Lord Bolton turned his pale eyes on Vargo Hoat chillingly. He likely saw through Brien's lie, though Jaime doubted anyone else did. "I am displeased. By that, and Lady Jaime's injury. She is the mother of the king, and I do not hear tales of his Grace's forgiving nature," _As if Joffrey would give a shit_. 

"They took my sword," Brien said. "My armour,"

"Return it all," Bolton turned to Hoat, who ground his teeth but nodded, ignoring the grumbling of his men; there were five northmen and as many Freys present for every Brave Companion. "Walton, find suitable rooms for Ser Brien. Amabel, you will see to Lady Jaime at once," Jaime had only enough time to exchange a quick look with Brien before they were marched away, separately.

In the maester's chambers, a grey-haired, fatherly man named Qyburn sucked in his breath when he cut away the linen from the wound on Jaime's chest.

"That bad? Will I die?"

Qyburn pushed at the wound with a finger, and wrinkled his nose at the gush of pus. "No. Though in a few more days..." He sliced away the remaining tatters of Jaime's dress. Glancing down, she saw they had not cut away all of the breast, just most. "The corruption has spread. I will have to cut away the rotten flesh. Try to burn out the corruption with boiling wine and a poultice. You will want milk of the poppy - "

"No," Jaime dare not let herself be put to sleep in a castle full of strangers, not after all that had happened in the past weeks. Not after the other night.

"There will be pain, my lady," Qyburn was taken aback.

"I'll scream,"

"A great deal of pain,"

"I'll scream very loudly,"

"Will you take some wine at least?"

"Does the High Septon ever pray?"

"Of that I am not certain. I shall bring the wine. Lie back, my lady, I must strap you to the chair," Ignoring the irrational panic rising inside her, Jaime forced herself to lean back and let the man fasten the straps. 

Qyburn cleaned the wound while she gulped down strongwine. Nothing helped when the time came to cut away the rotten flesh. Jaime did scream then, straining furiously against the bindings. She screamed again when Qyburn turned her on her side and poured boiling wine over what remained. Despite her fears, she lost consciousness for a time. When she woke, slumped in the chair, the maester was sewing at her chest with needle and catgut. 

"You'll have to be very careful. I'd have liked to have left a small flap of skin to fold back over, but there was little spare skin left,"

"How does a maester come to ride with the Brave Companions?" Jaime asked weakly. Qyburn did not look a monster, spare and soft-spoken, with warm brown eyes.

"The Citadel took my chain." Qyburn put away his needle. "I should do something about that wound above your eye as well. The flesh is badly inflamed. The cut on your cheek is deep too, my lady. I'm afraid that will scar," Jaime closed her eyes and let Qyburn work. 

"Tell me of the news from Storm's End,"

"Your second son has not proclaimed himself king, if that's what you mean," She was silent at that. If Orryn did crown himself, that meant he believed everything they said about her. The fact he hadn't gave her hope. "Open your eye," Qyburn dabbed at the crust of dried blood. "How did you come by this one?"

"A knight's gift,"

"I suppose chivalry isn't what it used to be, my lady," She smirked at that. 

"This boy is large enough to be a Clegane and uglier than you. You'd best see to him as well. He's still limping on the leg I pricked when we fought,"

"I will ask after him. What is this man to you?"

"My protector," Jaime had to laugh, no matter how it hurt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With regard to Jaime's injury; the Bloody Mummers cut of male Jaime's hand as most of Westeros views the sword hand as what makes a man, representing strength and power. So for female Jaime, they cut off what makes her a woman, supposedly ruining her beauty. With regard to the rape; yes it is a horrible scene, but they were very close to raping Brienne in the books, and it was only the fact that he would get less ransom (given she was still a maiden) that Hoat stopped them. Jaime was not a maiden, and there was no shout of sapphires to save her. Therefore I felt like it would be hardly realistic for the mummers to leave a beautiful woman untouched. 
> 
> Any text you recognise from A Storm of Swords is the work of GRRM. As usual, I tried to cut down the amount of text from ASOS and write an original take, but there are many scenes where this is impossible given that I want to get the characterisations to be as accurate as possible. 
> 
> Thank you for all your reads and comments! I love hearing what readers have to say, so feel free to give constructive criticism etc.


	8. Confession

Harrenhal's bathhouse was a dim, steamy, low-ceilinged room filled with great stone tubs. When they led Jaime in, they found Brien seated in one of them, scrubbing his arm almost angrily.

"Not so hard, boy," She called. "You'll scrub the skin off," He dropped his brush and covered himself with hands as big as Gregor Clegane's, flushing.

"What are you doing here?" 

"Lord Bolton insists I sup with him, but he neglected to invite my fleas," Jaime tugged at her guard's sleeve. "Leave us. I've had enough of the likes of you gaping at my teats," No one mentioned her mistake. She pointed at the hatchet-faced woman who had been sent to attend her. "You too. Wait without. There's only the one door, the boy is too big to try and shinny up a chimney, and how far do you think I'll get like this?"

The habit of obedience went deep. The woman followed her guard out, leaving the two of them alone. Jaime finally rid herself of the stinking rags that had once been clothes and climbed in with the boy, awkward and slow. She felt a hundred years old, which was a lot better than she had been feeling when she arrived here.

"There are other tubs," Brien actually shrunk away from her, averting his eyes from her nakedness, which amused her. Perhaps he expected her to be shy and shamed after what had befallen her. Jaime had no intention of that; there was a large difference between taking a bath with a man she knew would rather die than touch her, and being forced onto her back by three of the Bloody Mummers. 

"This one suits me well enough," She longed to submerge herself in the water, but Qyburn had warned her to keep her bandages dry. "Have no fear, boy. I'm not whore enough to jump you," Ignoring the way he stuttered at that, she could feel the tension drain from her legs, the accumulated dirt soaking away, along with lingering traces of the men who had violated her. Jaime's head spun. "If I faint, pull me out. No Lannister has ever drowned in the bath and I don't mean to be the first,"

"Why should I care how you die?"

"You swore a solemn vow," She smiled as a red flush crept up his neck. He still didn't make any move to uncover his lap. "Still the shy maiden then, boy? What is it that you think I haven't seen?"

She groped for the brush he had dropped and began to scrub herself. Even that was difficult, as her chest still burned with every stretch, but it was worth it, for the satisfaction of removing the filthy touch of the Bloody Mummers from her skin. The boy kept his eyes averted, the muscles in his great shoulders hunched and hard.

"Does the sight of my mutilation distress you so?" Jaime asked. _If even this one can't stand the sight of me, what will Cersen think?_ "Or is it the one that's left?" She gave a sharp smile. "You ought to be pleased. My whoring days are surely behind me. Although I can't say you were particularly successful with regard to seeing me to King's Landing in one piece," She drew closer, so looking at her was unavoidable, irritated by his lack of reaction. "No wonder Renly died, with you guarding him,"

He jerked to his feet as if she'd struck him, sending a wash of hot water across the tub. Jaime caught a glimpse of him as he climbed out. He was much hairier than her brother. _Larger, too_. Absurdly, she felt a twinge lower down. _Now I know I have been too long away from Cersen_. She averted her eyes, troubled by her body's response. 

"That was unworthy," She mumbled. "I'm a maimed woman, and bitter. Forgive me, Brien. You protected me better than most men could have. Would have,"

"Do you mock me?" He wrapped his nakedness in a towel.

"Are you as thick as a castle wall?" Jaime snapped angrily. "That was an apology. I am tired of fighting with you. What say we make a truce?"

"Truces are built on trust. Would you have me trust - "

"The Kingslayer, yes. The whore who murdered poor sad Aerys Targaryen," She snorted. "It's not Aerys I rue, it's Robert. 'I hear they've named you Kingslayer' he said to me as we danced at his coronation feast. 'Just don't think to make it a habit.' And he laughed, before trying to grab my arse. Why is it that no one names Robert oathbreaker? He tore the realm apart, yet _I_ am the one with shit for honour,"

"Robert did all he did for love," 

"Robert did all he did for pride, a cunt, and a pretty face," She scowled, jaw tightening.

"He rode to save the realm," He insisted. _To save the realm_. _Who do you think he was saving it from?_

"Aerys would have bathed in wildfire if he'd dared. The Targaryens were all mad for fire," Jaime felt lightheaded. _It is the heat in here, the last of my fever. I am not myself_. She eased herself down until the water reached just below the bandages, leaving her remaining breast more than visible. She didn't care. "Call me a whore, a traitor... I wore my gold dress that day, but..."

"Gold dress?" His voice sounded far off. She floated in heat, in memory.

"After the dancing griffins Hand lost the Battle of the Bells, Aerys exiled him." _Why am I telling this absurd ugly man?_ "He had finally realised that Robert was no mere outlaw lord, but the greatest threat House Targaryen had faced since Daemon Blackfyre. The king reminded Lewyn Martell gracelessly that he held Elia and sent him to take command of the Dornish army. Rhaegar returned from the south and persuaded his father to swallow his pride and write to Lord Tywin. My father had resigned his position on some weak excuse after Aerys refused to listen to him that burning Lord Stark was dangerous folly. The condition for him to leave King's Landing and raise his troops was that he left me a ward of the king. _Ward,_ as if! I was a hostage in all but name. But no raven returned from Casterly Rock,"

Once she started the telling, she couldn't stop. It was a story she had not told another soul, not in fifteen years. Even Cersen didn't know it, nor her father. Yet to Ser Brien of Tarth, Jaime spoke of how Aerys had used the pyromancers to plant caches of wildfire under the entire city, in the utmost secrecy, how the Hand, Lord Chelstead - the latest in a long line of failures struggling to fill her father's position - had worked out the truth. 

"He took off his chain of office and flung it down on the floor. Aerys burnt him alive for that, and hung his chain about the neck of Rossart, his favorite pyromancer. And all the time, I stood by the foot of the Iron Throne, still as a corpse, my liege's pet, a stupid little girl expected to keep all his sweet secrets," She smiled wryly. "Never underestimate stupid little girls.

"The Kingsguard were all away, you see, apart from young Ser Aredan Sarsfield. I would've preferred to have spent my days with Rhaella, Elia and her children, but Aerys liked to keep me close. I was Lord Tywin's daughter, dull-witted and naive as he thought me, so he did not trust me, made me swear on my knees I would never betray him. He wanted me where Varys could watch me, day and night. So I heard it all, along with Ser Aredan," She remembered how Rossart's eyes would shine when he unrolled his maps to show where the _substance_ must be placed. Garigus and Belis were the same. 

She continued, speaking of the Trident, Rhaegar's death, of Rhaella and Viserys being sent to Dragonstone whilst Elia and the children were kept behind. At the time, Jaime had been rather glad for it. At least with Elia there, she was not completely alone and friendless. Of course, she had come to regret that, as Aerys' madness grew. 

" _The traitors want my city_ , I heard him tell Rossart _, but I'll give them naught but ashes. Let Robert be king over charred bones and cooked meat_. If truth be told, I do not believe he truly expected to die. Like Aerion Brightfire before him, Aerys thought the fire would transform him... that he would rise again, reborn as a dragon, and turn all his enemies to ash,"

She told how Pycelle counselled the king to open the gates to Lord Tywin's long-awaited army, where Varys advised caution, all whilst Ned Stark was racing south with Robert's vanguard from the Trident, attempting to get there before the Lannister army made it to help defend the city. He was too late, but it did not matter. Once the gates were opened, her father had joined the rebels and sacked the city. 

"It fell to poor young Ser Aredan to hold the Red Keep, but he knew we were lost. I knew it too. I was in the throne room when he sent to Aerys, asking his leave to make terms of surrender. Instead of replying to the last Kingsguard in the city, the king turned to me, his ward, with a royal command. 'Bring me your father's heart, if you are no traitor.' He gave me his own dagger," She smiled, shaking her head. "Aerys would have no yielding. Lord Rossart was with him as I left. I knew what that meant.

"I waited in the shadows and followed Rossart as he left. He was dressed as a common man-at-arms, hurrying to a postern gate. I slew him first, with the king's dagger. Then I took his sword and slew Aerys, before he could find someone else to carry his message to the pyromancers. Days later, Aredan Sarsfield, now forever called Ser Aredan The Unaware for allowing a little girl to kill his king, hunted down Belis and Garigus and slew them as well,"

The water had grown cool. When Jaime opened her eyes, she found herself staring at her sword hand. _The hand that made me Kingslayer_. The boy looked ridiculous, clutching his towel around his hips with thick white legs sticking out beneath. 

"Has my tale turned you speechless? Come, curse me or kiss me or call me a liar. Something,"

"If this is true, how is it no one knows? Neither of you told anyone,"

"We both swore on our knees not to betray the king's secrets. Would you have me break my oath?" Jaime laughed. "Do you think anyone wanted to hear my opinion, my explanations? Had a knight killed Aerys, no one would have blinked, but because it was me I must be unnatural, hysterical, half-mad, treacherous," She lurched to her feet, the water running cold down her body. "I was a murderess the moment they saw me," 

A violent shiver took her, and she smashed her hand against the rim of the tub as she tried to climb out. The movement stretched her wound again. Pain shuddered through her, and suddenly the bathhouse was spinning. 

Brien caught her before she could fall. His arm was clammy and chilled, but he was strong, and gentler than she would have thought, as he helped her from the tub, her legs wobbly. _Gentler than Cersen_. 

"Guards!" She heard him shout. "The Kingslayer!"

 _Jaime_ , she thought, _my name is Jaime_.

The next she knew, she was lying on the floor with the guards and Brien and Qyburn all standing over her looking concerned. Brien was naked, but he seemed to have forgotten that for the moment. Jaime wore nothing either. 

"The heat of the tubs will do it," Qyburn was telling them. "There's still poison in her blood as well, and she's malnourished. What have you been feeding her?"

"Worms and piss and grey vomit," Jaime offered.

"Hardbread and water and oat porridge," The guard insisted, glancing down at her body without even trying to pretend he wasn't. "She don't hardly eat it, though. What should we do with her?"

"Scrub her and dress her and carry her to Kingspyre, if need be," Qyburn said. "Lord Bolton insists she will sup with him tonight. The time is growing short,"

"Bring me clean garb for her," Brien said. "I'll see that she's washed and dressed," Jaime felt an absurd stab of gratitude.

The guards were not particularly glad to give up the task to him, and there were definitely several muttered crude comments about exactly why he wanted to dress her himself, but they did as he asked, lifting her to her feet and sitting her on a stone bench by the wall. Brien went away to retrieve his towel, and returned with a stiff brush to finish scrubbing her. 

Qyburn brought a linen shift, black boots and a dark blue velvet gown. Jaime was feeling less dizzy by then, though no less clumsy. With the boy's help she managed to dress herself, discovering the gown was high-necked, far from her usual attire, although she was rather glad for that. Half the bodice was pitifully hollow, but it was better than a gaping low neckline. _I can always stuff a cushion down there_. Qyburn had guessed her measurements unnervingly well, and she wondered what exactly he'd been doing when she had passed out in his company earlier. 

The Bloody Maester had brought fresh clothing for Brien as well; a loose yellow tunic the size of a tent, clean woolen breeches and a leather jerkin. It was evident the moment he put the jerkin on and couldn't do up the laces that the garment was too small, making Jaime chuckle. A dozen cruel japes leaped into her head, but for once she kept them there.

It was half an hour before she felt strong enough to stand. After the dim wet warmth of the bathhouse, the air outside was a slap across the face, which did serve to wake her up slightly. 

"M'lord will be looking for her by now," A guard told Qyburn. "Him too. Do I need to carry her?"

"I can still walk. Brien, give me your arm,"

Clutching him, Jaime let them herd her across the yard to a vast draughty hall, larger even than the throne room in King's Landing. In the centre of that immense emptiness, at a trestle table surrounded by what seemed like acres of slate floor, the Lord of the Dreadfort waited, attended by a cupbearer.

"My lord," Brien said when they stood before him. Roose Bolton's eyes were paler than stone, and his voice was spider soft. 

"I am pleased that you are strong enough to attend me after such treatment, my lady. Please, do be seated," He gestured at the spread that covered the table. "Will you drink red or white? Of indifferent vintage, I fear. Ser Amory drained Lady Whent's cellars nearly dry,"

"I trust you killed him for it," Jaime slid into the chair quickly, so Bolton could not see how weak she was. "White is for Starks. I'll drink red like a good Lannister,"

"I would prefer water," Brien said.

"Elmar, the red for Lady Jaime, water for Ser Brien, and hippocras for myself," Bolton waved a hand at their escort, dismissing them. He helped himself to a prune. "Do try these, Lady Jaime. They are most sweet, and help move the bowels as well. Lord Vargo took them from an inn before he burnt it,"

"My bowels move fine, that goat's no lord, and your prunes don't interest me half so much as your intentions,"

"Regarding you?" A faint smile touched Bolton's lips. "You are a perilous prize, my lady. You sow dissension wherever you go. Even here, in my happy house of Harrenhal. And in Riverrun as well, it seems. Do you know, Edmure Tully has offered a thousand golden dragons for your recapture?" Despite herself, Jaime smiled slightly. _That's a lords ransom..._ She was no warrior, no battle commander, just a woman, and should be as useless as the two Stark girls in King's Landing. By rights, they should have exchanged her for them months ago. But Robb Stark had held her tight in his grasp _. What exactly is it you think I'll do if I'm free?_

"My brother will pay ten times as much," _Until he sees my injury, that is. Then who knows_. 

They spoke of Lord Karstark's offer, to give his daughter's hand to whoever brought him Jaime's head. Bolton then surprised Jaime by saying he had wed Fat Walda Frey, and was giving Harrenhal to Vargo Hoat. Edmure Tully was to wed Roslin Frey in place of Robb Stark, who had married the daughter of a Westerlands bannerman, Jeyne Westerling, angering the Freys in breaking the betrothal. Elmar Frey, Bolton's cupbearer, had been meant to wed Stark's sister Arya, but that betrothal had been broken as well with news of Stark's marriage. This, of course, caught Brien's interest.

"Is there word of Arya Stark?" He leaned forward. "Lady Catelyn had feared that... is the girl still alive?"

"Oh, yes," Bolton said.

"You have certain knowledge of that, my lord?"

"Arya Stark was lost for a time, it was true, but now she has been found," He shrugged. "I mean to see her returned safely to the north,"

"Her and her sister both," Brien said. "Tyrion Lannister has promised us both girls for his sister," That seemed to amuse the Lord of the Dreadfort. 

"Ser, has no one told you? Lannisters lie,"

"Is that a slight on the honour of my House?" Jaime's eyes narrowed, as she picked up the cheese knife. "A rounded point, and dull," She slid her thumb along the edge of the blade. "But it will go through your eye all the same," She could only hope she did not look as feeble as she felt. Bolton's little smile reappeared fleetingly. 

"You speak boldly for a woman. One needs help to reach some bread. My guards are all around us, I remind you,"

"All around us, and half a league away," Jaime glanced down the vast length of the hall, smiling her best dazzling smile. "By the time they reach us, you'll be as dead as Aerys," She would do it too - she was not one to back down from her threats - but hoped it didn't come to it. The man was not particularly large, but bigger than she was, and she had gracelessly destroyed any element of surprise she might have. 

"'Tis scarcely chivalrous to threaten your host over his own cheese and olives," Bolton scolded. "In the north, we hold the laws of hospitality sacred still," His words chilled her slightly, but, unsure as to why, she ignored it, suddenly angry. 

"I'm a captive here, not a guest. Your goat mutilated me, and I'm sure you knew full well what happens to women in his tender care, even before Ser Brien all but blurted it out in the middle of the courtyard. If you think some prunes will make me overlook that, you're bloody well mistaken," Roose Bolton looked taken aback, though that might have been a show. Something about his manner told Jaime that this man could quite easily watch a dozen women being raped and murdered, and be only mildly irritated at the mess. 

"Perhaps I am. Perhaps I ought to make a wedding gift of you to Edmure Tully... or strike your head off, as your brother did for Eddard Stark,"

"I would not advise it. Casterly Rock has a long memory,"

"A thousand leagues of mountain, sea, and bog lie between my walls and your rock. Lannister enmity means little to Bolton,"

"Lannister friendship could mean much," Jaime thought she knew the game they were playing now. _But does the boy know as well?_ She dare not look to see.

"I am not certain you are the sort of friends a wise man would want,"

"My lord," Brien said. "Lady Jaime is to be exchanged for Lady Catelyn's daughters. You must free us to continue on our way,"

"The raven that came from Riverrun told of an escape, not an exchange. And if you helped this captive slip her bonds, you are guilty of treason, Ser,"

"I serve Lady Stark," The big knight rose to his feet. Jaime rolled her eyes. 

"And I the King in the North. Or the King Who Lost the North, as some now call him," Bolton said mildly. "Who never wished to trade Lady Jaime back to the Lannisters,"

"Sit down and eat, Brien," Jaime urged, tugging at his elbow. "If Bolton meant to kill us, he wouldn't be wasting his precious prunes on us, at such peril to his bowels,"

"Ser Brien, will you sit if I tell you that I hope to send Lady Jaime on, just as you and Lady Stark desire?" Roose Bolton cut his meat methodically, the blood running across his plate.

"I... you'd send us on?" The boy sounded wary, but he sat. "That is good, my lord,"

"It is. However, Lord Vargo has created me one small... difficulty," He turned his pale eyes on Jaime. "Do you know why Hoat mutilated you as he did?"

"He enjoys cutting off teats," Jaime could still feel it burn. "He enjoys cutting off hands and feet as well. He doesn't seem to need a reason,"

Bolton explained the disadvantage that the Lannisters winning the Blackwater had put Hoat at after he turned his cloak to the Boltons. 

"By maiming you, he meant to diminish your value to me. For he is my man, as I am King Robb's man. Thus his crime is mine, or may seem so in your father's eyes. And therein lies my... small difficulty," He gazed at Jaime, his pale eyes unblinking, expectant, chill. _I see_. 

"You want me to absolve you of blame. To tell my father that this injury is no work of yours," Jaime laughed. "My lord, send me to King's Landing, and I'll sing as sweet a song as you could want, of how gently you treated me," Any other answer, she knew, and Bolton would give her back to the goat. "I'll write it out if you like. How I was maimed by the sellsword my own father brought to Westeros, and saved by the noble Lord Bolton,"

"I will trust to your word, my lady," _There's something I don't often hear_. "You will leave when Qyburn says you are strong enough, with a strong escort under the command of my captain, Steelshanks Walton. He will see you safe and whole to King's Landing," _Rather too late for that_. 

"Provided Lady Catelyn's daughters are delivered safe and whole as well," Brien said. "My lord, your man Walton's protection is welcome, but the girls are _my_ charge."

"The girls need not concern you any further, ser," Bolton gave him an uninterested glance. "The Lady Sansa is the dwarf's wife, only the gods can part them now,"

"His wife?" Brien said, appalled. "The Imp? But... he swore, before the whole court, in sight of gods and men..."

 _He is such an innocent_. Jaime was almost as surprised, in truth, but she hid it better. _Tyrion and_ _Sansa Stark. Father could hardly have chosen a crueller match for either of them_.

"What the Imp did or did nor swear scarcely matters now," Bolton said. "Least of all to you," The boy looked almost wounded. "Lady Jaime will continue on to King's Landing. I said nothing about you, I fear. It would be unconscionable of me to deprive Lord Vargo of both his prizes," The Lord of the Dreadfort reached out to pick another prune. "Were I you, Ser, I should worry less about Starks and rather more about sapphires,"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not particularly proud of this chapter, given there is so much from the original that can't be cut so the story makes sense, yet there was little opportunity to make too many changes, particularly from the conversation with Bolton. I also had to cut a lot from Jaime's monologue about Aerys; it's one of my favourite scenes in the books but once again there was very little to change in parts of it, so away it went. 
> 
> Either way, I hope you enjoyed. Thanks for reading. 


	9. Fever Dream

Though her fever lingered, the wound was healing, and Qyburn said the rest of her was no longer in danger. Jaime was anxious to be gone, to put Harrenhal, the Bloody Mummers, and Ser Brien of Tarth all behind her. Her children waited for her in the Red Keep, along with Cersen, though who knew what that would bring.

"I am sending Qyburn with you, to look after you on the way to King's Landing," Roose Bolton said on the morning of their departure. "He has a fond hope that your father will force the Citadel to give him back his chain, in gratitude,"

"We all have fond hopes. If he grows me back a breast, my father might make him Grand Maester,"

Steelshanks Walton commanded Jaime's escort; blunt, brusque, brutal, at heart a simple soldier. Jaime had known his sort before. Such men obeyed without question, but the deep malignant cruelty of the Brave Companions was not a part of their nature. 

It was only the one party that left Harrenhal that morning. Bolton was due to march north-east for Edmure Tully's wedding, though not for a good few weeks. The wedding had been delayed, apparently, though the reasons for this were not so clear. 

"You will give my warm regards to your father?" Bolton asked Jaime, there to see them off.

"So long as you give mine to Robb Stark," She smiled wryly. 

"That I shall,"

Some Brave Companions had gathered in the yard to watch them leave. Jaime trotted over to where they stood, forcing a sharp smile on her face despite the surge of deepest hatred she felt at the sight of them. 

"Zollo. How kind of you to see me off. Pyg. Timeon. Will you miss me? No last jest to share, Shagwell? To lighten my way down the road? And Rorge, did you come to kiss me goodbye?" Though still thinner than she would like, Jaime knew she looked far more like herself now than she had done on the road, riding side-saddle in a clean and fine, well-fitted dress, her face scrubbed of any dirt and all the tangles and mats brushed out of her hair. She had come to quite like the lightness of having her hair cut above her shoulders. _I might keep it that way_.

"Bugger off, whore," Rorge said, ever eloquent.

"If you insist. Rest assured, though, I will be back," Her smile set coldly, and she felt Lord Tywin's stare form in her eyes. "A Lannister always pays their debts," _And believe me, I'll enjoy buggering you all with a red hot poker and feeding your cocks to the pigs_. 

Without waiting for a reply, Jaime wheeled her horse around and kicked it into a trot.

She had heard the things her guards muttered when they thought she couldn't hear. Evidently Rorge, Zollo and Shagwell - especially Shagwell, cursed fool - had been rather proud of themselves for having the infamous Kingslayer on her back, and wished for as many of the garrison as possible to know it. As usual, Jaime met it all with a sharp tongue and outward carelessness, but her rage was constantly simmering beneath the surface, and it was all she could do to keep smiling and not grab her borrowed sword to gut each one of them.

She quickly rejoined Steelshanks Walton and his men.

Lord Bolton had given her the clothes of a lady, even including a bundle of rags to serve as chest padding so she wouldn't look off balance. There was no sword, of course, though she had soon remedied that with a trip to the armoury. The weapon was now strapped to her saddle, and her smile dared any of the men to say a word against it. Jaime had also hidden a small dagger in her skirts, just in case. _No one will catch me off guard again_. The next man to try her would end up with that knife in their chest. 

They left through Harrenhal's smaller gate, turning south. Walton meant to avoid the kingsroad as long as he could, preferring the farmer's tracks and game trails near the Gods Eye.

"The kingsroad would be faster," Jaime was anxious to return as quickly as possible. If they made haste, she might even arrive in time for Joffrey's wedding.

"I want no trouble," Steelshanks said. "Gods know who we'd meet along that kingsroad,"

"No one you need fear, surely? You have two hundred men,"

"Aye. But others might have more. M'lord said to bring you safe to your lord father, and that's what I mean to do,"

 _I have come this way before_ , Jaime reflected a few miles further on, when they passed a deserted mill beside the lake. Weeds now grew where once a miller's son had gaped at her like she was the maiden herself when she smiled at him.

"Is your chest troubling you?" Qyburn fell in beside her.

"The lack of my breast is troubling me," The mornings were the hardest. Each dawn Jaime would forget, and briefly wonder why she felt the weight on one side, and emptiness on the other.

"You did take the - "

"Yes," She smiled at him, a warning not to speak of the matter any further. "Of course I did," The moon tea had been delivered to her by a serving girl named Pia, and Jaime had drunk every last drop, hating the look the girl gave her. _Sympathy_. Pia was apparently known in Harrenhal for an apparent inability to say no, not that many of this lot would care if she did. _Sympathy and understanding from a whore giving me moon tea... sympathy from a victim_. Jaime knew which comparison she resented more. 

Several cutting remarks had risen to her lips, an attempt to disillusion herself that she could salvage her pride, but they had died as the girl chattered obliviously on, about seeing her at Lord Whent's tourney, seventeen years ago. Pia had looked at Jaime and longed to be her, she claimed, wished with every bone in her body to be that beautiful, that confident, dress in fine gowns and be courted by great lords. Jaime had looked up from her moon tea, never more aware how much of a shadow of that girl she was now, and laughed bitterly.

"I wish I could be me at fifteen too," The girl's eyes had widened in regret, as apologies began to spill from her lips, but Jaime cut her off. "You can come with me, to King's Landing, if you like," She wasn't sure what made her say it. Pia was in her early twenties, not even ten years younger than Jaime herself, but still seemed to have the eyes of a foolish young maiden, despite having been with hundreds of men. "I'll need a handmaid who doesn't flinch at the sight of my chest. And I can't imagine you'll enjoy staying here at the mercy of the Bloody Mummers," Pia's eyes filled with tears, and she almost regretted saying anything at all.

"Thank you, my lady. _Thank you_ ," The girl sounded so piteously grateful that Jaime had felt both oddly pleased with herself and highly uncomfortable.

Pia currently rode in the baggage train of their party, having made friends with several of the guards already. Jaime turned her mind back to Qyburn.

"Is there any news of the knight's ransom? Ser Brien,"

"You have not heard?" Qyburn gave a shrug. "We had a bird from Lord Selwyn. In answer to mine. The Evenstar offers three hundred dragons for his son's safe return. I had told Lord Vargo there were no sapphires on Tarth, but he will not listen. He is convinced the Evenstar intends to cheat him,"

"Three hundred dragons is a fair ransom for a knight," She frowned. "The goat should take what he can get,"

"The goat is Lord of Harrenhal, and the Lord of Harrenhal does not haggle,"

The news irritated her, though she supposed she should have seen it coming. _The lie spared you awhile, boy. Be grateful for that much_. They'd likely slit his throat and squabble over his armour the moment they realised his father wasn't able to give them his weight in sapphires. Jaime felt a stab of concern, and ruthlessly quashed it. 

Qyburn's companionship was wearing on her, and she was in no mood for Pia's wide-eyed chatter, so she trotted toward the head of the column. A round little northman called Nage went before Steelshanks with the peace banner; a rainbow-striped flag on a staff topped by a seven-pointed star. 

"Shouldn't you northmen have a different sort of peace banner?" She asked. "What are the Seven to you?"

"Southron gods," Walton said. "But it's a southron peace we need, to get you safe to your father,"

 _My father_. Jaime wondered whether Lord Tywin had received the goat's demand for ransom, and any news of her injury. _What is a mutilated woman he can't hope to marry off again worth? Half the gold in Casterly Rock? Three hundred dragons? Or nothing?_ Her father had never been unduly swayed by sentiment. _And now you have a cripple for a daughter as well as a dwarf for a son, my lord. How you will hate that_.

By evenfall they had left the lake to follow a rutted track through a wood. Jaime's chest was throbbing dully when Steelshanks decided to make camp. While Walton set the watches, she stretched out near the fire and propped a rolled-up bearskin against a stump as a pillow for her head. Brien would have told her she had to eat before she slept, to keep her strength up, but she was more tired than hungry. She closed her eyes, and despite herself, hoped to dream of Cersen, as they were before all of this. The fever dreams were all so vivid.

_\- Dream -_

She awoke screaming. 

"No. No, no, no. _No!"_

Heart pounding, Jaime found herself in starry darkness amidst a grove of trees. She could taste bile in her mouth, and she was shivering with sweat, hot and cold at once. When she looked down, she was missing one breast. She felt sudden tears well up in her eyes.

"Lady Jaime?" Pia, who slept beside her as they were the only two women in the camp, had sat up, eyes wide. "Are you alright?"

"My lady," Qyburn knelt beside her, his fatherly face crinkled with concern. "What is it? I heard you cry out,"

"What is it?" Steelshanks stood above them, tall and dour. "Why did you scream?"

"A dream... only a dream," Jaime stared at the camp around her. "I was in the dark, but I had - I was whole," She looked down and felt sick all over again. _There's no place like that beneath the Rock_. Her stomach was sour and empty, and her head was pounding where she'd pillowed it against the stump. Qyburn felt her brow. 

"You still have a touch of fever,"

"A fever dream," Jaime reached up. "Help me," Steelshanks took her by the hand and pulled her to her feet, Pia hovering at her elbow.

"Was it the Mummers, milady?" The girl asked, concerned, but Jaime ignored her aside from a brief shake of the head. 

"Another cup of dreamwine?" Qyburn asked.

"No. I've dreamt enough," She wondered how long it was till dawn. Somehow she knew that if she closed her eyes, she would be back in that dark place again.

"Milk of the poppy, then? And something for your fever? You are still weak, my lady. You need to sleep. To rest,"

 _That is the last thing I mean to do_. The moonlight glimmered pale upon the stump where Jaime had rested her head. The moss covered it so thickly she had not noticed before, but now she saw that the wood was white. It made her think of Winterfell, and Ned Stark's heart tree. But the stump was dead and so was Stark and so were all the others, Ser Arthur, Rhaella, Elia and the children, Ashara, Stannis. _And Aerys. Aerys is most dead of all_. Yet they had all appeared before her, faces hard, accusing. Then her children had joined them, as pale and dead as the rest of them, and judged her twice as much. But Brien had been there, Brien had been beside her, even as all the other lights went out...

"Walton," Jaime ran her fingers through her hair. "Saddle the horses. I want to go back,"

"Back?" Steelshanks regarded her dubiously. _He thinks I've gone mad. And perhaps I have_. 

"I left something at Harrenhal,"

"Lord Vargo holds it now. Him and his Bloody Mummers,"

"You have twice the men he does,"

"If I don't serve you up to your father as commanded, Lord Bolton will have my hide. We press on to King's Landing," Once Jaime might have countered with a smile and a threat, or perhaps a touch on the arm and a laden look, but mutilated women alone in the dark do not inspire much fear, and she truly did not have it in her to flirt. She wondered what her brother would do. Tyrion, not Cersen. 

"Lannisters lie, Steelshanks. Didn't Lord Bolton tell you that?" She raised an eyebrow. "Unless you take me back to Harrenhal, the song I sing my father may not be one the Lord of the Dreadfort would wish to hear. I might even say it was Bolton who ordered my mutilation, and Steelshanks Walton who swung the blade,"

"That isn't so," Walton gaped at her.

"No, but who will my father believe?" Jaime made her eyes widen and fill with tears, and spoke in a tremulous voice. "That one - that - that man. Walton, he - he held me down... tore my dress, there was a knife... I begged and screamed, but he - I couldn't - " She looked up to Walton's expression of horror, and made herself smile, the way she used to smile when nothing in the world could frighten her, her tears gone in an instant. "It will be so much easier if we just go back. We'd be on our way again soon enough, and I'd sing such a sweet song in King's Landing you'll never believe your ears. You'd get the girl, and a nice fat purse of gold as thanks,"

"Gold?" Walton liked that well enough. "How much gold?" _I have him_. 

"Why, how much would you want?"

And by the time the sun came up, they were halfway back to Harrenhal. Jaime tried not to feel too smug at Pia's outpourings of mixed awe and amusement at the whole conversation. The idea of standing up to an armed man like Walton seemed alien to the girl, just as the idea of quiet ladylike stoicism had seemed alien to Jaime when Elia had talked of her husband's transgressions. 

It was midday before they reached the castle. Beneath a darkening sky that threatened rain, the immense walls and five great towers stood black and ominous. _It looks so dead_. The walls were empty, the gates barred. But high above the barbican, a single banner hung limp, the black goat of Qohor. Jaime cupped her hands to shout. 

"You in there! Open your gates, or I'll knock them down!"

It was not until Qyburn and Steelshanks added their voices that a head finally appeared on the battlements above them. A short time later, they heard the portcullis being drawn upward. The gates swung open, and Jaime spurred her horse through the walls. It seemed as if the Brave Companions still thought of them as allies. _Fools_.

The outer ward was deserted. Jaime reined up and looked about, hearing sounds from somewhere, and men shouting in half a dozen tongues. Steelshanks and Qyburn rode up on either side. 

"Get what you came back for, and we'll be gone again," Walton said. "I want no trouble with the Mummers,"

"Tell your men to keep their hands on their sword hilts, and the Mummers will want no trouble with you. Two to one, remember?" Jaime's head jerked round at the sound of a distant roar, echoing off the walls. All of a sudden, she knew what was happening. _Have we come too late?_ Her stomach did a lurch, and she slammed her heels into her horse, galloping across the outer ward.

They had him in the bear pit.

It was ten yards across and five yards deep, walled in stone and encircled by six tiers of marble benches. The Brave Companions filled only a quarter of the seats, Jaime saw as she swung down clumsily from her horse.

Brien wore the same clothes he'd worn to supper with Roose Bolton. No shield, no breastplate, no chainmail, not even boiled leather, only wool. Half his tunic was hanging off in tatters, and his left arm dripped blood where the bear had raked him.

At least they gave him a sword. The boy held it one-handed, moving sideways, trying to put some distance between himself and the bear. _That's no good, the ring's too small_. He needed to attack, to make a quick end to it before he grew too tired. But the boy seemed afraid to close. The Mummers showered him with insults and obscene suggestions.

"This is none of our concern," Steelshanks warned Jaime. "Lord Bolton said the lad was theirs, to do with as they liked,"

"His name is Brien," Jaime descended the steps, past a dozen startled sellswords. Vargo Hoat had taken the lord's box in the lowest tier. "Lord Vargo," She called over the shouts.

"Kingthlayer?" The Qohorik almost spilt his wine. The left side of his face was bandaged clumsily, the linen over his ear spotted with blood.

"Pull him out of there,"

"Thay out of thith, Kingthlayer, unleth you dethire another raping," He waved a wine cup, to crude shouts of approval from the men that heard. "Your mooth bit oth my ear. Thmall wonder hith father will not ranthom thuch a thavage,"

A roar turned Jaime back around before she could laugh in Hoat's face. The bear was eight feet tall. _Gregor Clegane with a pelt_ , _though likely smarter_. Bellowing in fury, the beast showed a mouth full of great yellow teeth, then fell back to all fours and went straight at Brien. _There's your chance_. _Strike! Now!_

Instead, he poked out ineffectually with the point of his blade. The bear recoiled, then came on, rumbling. Brien slid to his left and poked again at the bear's face. This time he lifted a paw to swat the sword aside. _He's wary_ , Jaime realised. _He's gone up against other men. He knows swords and spears can hurt him. But that won't keep him off him long_. 

"Kill him!" She shouted, but her voice was lost amongst all the others. Brien moved around the pit, keeping the wall at his back. _Too close. If the bear pins him by the wall..._

The beast turned clumsily, too far and too fast. Quick as a cat, Brien changed direction. _There's the knight I remember_. He leapt in to land a cut across the bear's back. Roaring, the beast went up on his hind legs again. Brien scrambled back away. _Where's the blood?_ Then suddenly she understood. Jaime rounded on Hoat. 

"You gave him a tourney sword,"

"Of courth," The goat brayed laughter, spraying her with wine and spittle.

" _I'll_ pay his bloody ransom," She wiped her face furiously. "Gold, sapphires, whatever you want. Pull him out of there,"

"You want him? Go get him,"

So she did.

Jaime put her hand on the rail and vaulted over, rolling as she hit the sand and trying not to scream in pain as her wound stretched, or get tangled up in her dress. The bear turned at the _thump_ , sniffing, watching this new intruder warily. She scrambled to one knee. _Well, what in seven hells do I do now?_ She filled her fist with sand. 

"Kingslayer?" Brien was astonished.

"Jaime," She flung the sand at the bear's face. The bear mauled the air and roared.

"What are you _doing_ here?"

"Something stupid. Get behind me," She circled toward him, putting herself in the middle. It must have looked absurd, the skinny woman in a fine silken gown stood between the huge knight and the bear.

" _You_ get behind. I have the sword,"

"A sword with no point and no edge. _Get behind me!"_

"I'm three times your size!" She ignored his protests, seeing something half-buried in the sand, and snatched it up. It proved to be a human jawbone, with some greenish flesh still clinging to it, crawling with maggots. _Charming_ , she thought, wondering whose face she held. The bear was edging closer, so Jaime whipped her arm around and flung bone, meat, and maggots at the beast's head, her chest burning at the movement. She missed by a good yard, thrown off by the pain. _Might as well have lost my right hand for all the good I can do now_.

Brien tried to dart around her, but she tripped him. He fell in the sand, clutching the useless sword as he rolled onto his back with a groan, and Jaime threw herself over him, onto his chest, as the bear came charging.

There was a _twang_ , and a bolt sprouted suddenly beneath the beast's left eye. Blood and slaver ran from his open mouth, and another bolt took him in the leg. The bear roared, and reared. He saw Jaime and Brien again and lumbered toward them. More crossbows fired. At such short range, the bowmen could hardly miss. The shafts hit as hard as maces, but the bear took another step. _The poor dumb brave brute_. Jaime felt an odd stab of sympathy. The bear took another two quarrels in the back, gave one last rumbling growl, stretched out on the bloodstained sand, and died.

Brien's arms had wrapped tight around her at some point, where she lay on his chest. As the bear fell, the knight seemed to notice this for the first time, though was too distracted by his brush with death to even blush, simply sitting up, staring dumbly. Realising she was all but sat in his lap at this point, Jaime shrugged his arms off her and staggered to her feet, shaking sand out of her hair. Steelshanks's archers were winding their crossbows and reloading while the Bloody Mummers shouted curses and threats at them. Some had their swords out.

"You thlew my bear!" Vargo Hoat shrieked.

"And I'll serve you the same if you give me trouble," Steelshanks threw back. "We're taking the knight,"

"You'll have your ransom," Jaime said to Hoat. "For both of us. A Lannister pays their debts. Now fetch some ropes and get us out of here,"

"Bugger that," Rorge growled. "Kill them, Hoat. Or you'll bloody well wish you had!" Hoat hesitated. Half his men were drunk, the northmen stone sober, and there were twice as many of them, crossbows loaded. 

"Pull them out," Hoat said, and turned to Jaime. "I hath chothen to be merthiful. Tell your lord father,"

"I will, my lord," _Not that it will do you any good_.

Not until they were half a league from Harrenhal and out of range of archers on the walls did Steelshanks Walton let his anger show. 

"Are you _mad_ , Kingslayer? Did you mean to die? No man can fight a bear with his bare hands, let alone a woman, let alone one your size, and badly injured!"

"I hoped you'd kill the beast before the beast killed me," Jaime laughed. "Elsewise, Lord Bolton would have peeled you like an orange, no?" Steelshanks cursed her roundly for a fool of woman, spurred his horse, and galloped away up the column.

"Lady Jaime?" Even in soiled yellow wool, Jaime couldn't help notice Brien had never looked more like a knight. "I am grateful, but... you were well away. Why come back?" A dozen quips came to mind, each crueler than the one before, but she only shrugged. 

"I dreamed of you,"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for every read, comment and kudos! They are very much appreciated and definitely inspire me to keep writing. What are your thoughts on the story so far? I love hearing them


	10. Light Of The Seven

_The king is dead_ , they told her, never knowing that Joffrey was her son as well as her sovereign.

"The Imp opened his throat with a dagger," A man declared at the inn where they spent the night. "He drank his blood from a big gold chalice," The man did not recognise the thin, short-haired woman in a modest faded yellow gown, no more than any of them did, so he said things he wouldn't have had he known who was listening.

"It was poison did the deed," The innkeep insisted. "The boy's face turned black as a plum," Pia turned to her, concerned, horrified, and Jaime felt Brien's eyes on her, but she just stared, not moving, not saying a word. _My son is dead_.

"May the Father judge him justly," A septon murmured. _For Joff's sake_ , _I hope he does not_. 

"The dwarf's wife did the murder with him," An archer swore. "Afterward, she vanished from the hall in a puff of brimstone, and a ghostly direwolf was seen prowling the Red Keep, blood dripping from his jaws,"

Jaime sat silent through it all, letting the words wash over her, a horn of ale forgotten in her hand. _Joffrey_ _. My firstborn. My son_. She thought of the boy's face - a face she normally associated with feelings of anger, regret and mild disgust - but his features kept blurring into Cersen's. _He will be furious. Vengeful. Grieving, though for his secret son or for the power the boy brought him?_

Jaime knew she should be in mourning herself _,_ her eyes red from crying _._ But she was never one to weep publicly. Only to her twin did she show her wounds, and even then... _But what wounds are these? My son is dead, and I feel.._. What _did_ she feel? Not nothing, certainly not, but it wasn't quite grief either. Not like she had grieved for Ashara. Not even like she had for Stannis. 

That night, the more important members of their group had squeezed into the only room left at the inn - the poorest room in the building, lacking even a bed - laying out bedrolls on the wooden floor whilst the others made camp outside. Jaime did cry then, silently, lying between Pia and Brien as everyone else slept.

It wasn't the vile boy Joffrey had grown into that she wept for, but the golden-haired baby she had pushed screaming into the world, had held and soothed and loved. _My boy, my first child_. 

She hadn't been prepared to love anything more than Cersen, yet holding her son had disproved that notion in ways that awed and terrified her. Memories flashed through her mind; Joffrey as a young child, holding his hand as he took his first steps, laughing as he played with toy knights. Jaime supposed she wept for what the boy had become as well, for what mother, even a mother like her, would wish to see their child grow to be a tyrant? _Could I have done more for him? I tried, I did... but there was poison in him from the start_. 

Despite her best efforts, a small sob escaped her. 

"Jaime?" Brien's whisper in the darkness made her jump. The knight had slept the other side of her since Harrenhal, an arrangement they had wordlessly agreed upon. She lay on her side now, facing him as she believed him to be asleep. "Are you alright?" Jaime had the mad urge to laugh. 

"Wiser men would have heard my weeping and turned over to get some sleep," She whispered back, her cutting tone perhaps ruined by the bitten-back sob that followed. "Or pretended to, at least. If I want your comfort, I'll ask for it, boy,"

"You're allowed to grieve," He said, stubborn as ever. "He was your son - "

"He was a monster," She cut him off. "He killed Ned Stark and started this whole bloody mess in the first place. And regardless, I swore to myself on the road to Harrenhal that no one else would see my tears. Go back to sleep, ser,"

"It's dark," Brien pointed out. "I can't even see your face," Jaime gave a rather choked chuckle, surprised. 

"When did you develop any kind of wit?" She looked up to where she thought his eyes would be. "What are you hoping to do, ser? Let me weep in your arms? Stroke my hair, or what's left of it? Comfort me, whilst it's likely better for the kingdom and my family that my son is dead?" Her voice had risen slightly, and she felt Pia stir slightly in her sleep, so hastily quieted. 

"No," Was Brien's response. "I - I lost my elder brother, long ago. No one should have to grieve alone," There was a pause. _Few men have made me lost for words.._. 

"Thank you," Jaime said eventually, quietly, tiredly. "But there's no need to concern yourself. I believe I am done with my display of motherly grief. By morning I will be my usual delightful self again, don't you fear," But she stayed lying on the side that faced Brien, and when she woke at dawn after an uneasy sleep - thankfully she was first to rise - Jaime found her head had drifted closer to him, some of her golden curls even falling against his chest. 

They rode hard the next day, at Jaime's insistence. Everyone seemed to be treating her with an irritating wariness, expecting her to break down at any minute. Her son was dead, but after the previous night, her eyes were now dry and would stay that way. She still wore that yellow dress, given that the other - a true lady's gown, whereas this one was more fitted for a handmaid - had been ruined jumping into the bear pit. 

When she saw the city before her, its watchtowers dark against the gathering dusk, Jaime cantered up to Walton. Nage led them up a low hill, the peace banner lifting and turning in the wind. She would see Cersen soon, and Tyrion, and their father. And she would see her children. Seven of them, perhaps, depending on who had made it to King's Landing for their brother's wedding. _Could my brother truly have killed Joffrey?_ Jaime found that hard to believe.

She was curiously calm now. Women were supposed to go mad with grief when their children died, she knew, she had seen it. They were supposed to tear their hair out by the roots, to curse the gods and fling themselves off castle walls. Even when she had cried in the night, Jaime hadn't felt grief that strong. _I loved the boy once, but he grew into a monster. He hated me, I rarely even liked him, he was more Cersen's son than he ever was mine_. She had done her mourning long ago, when she realised her sweet baby son was lost to her, or had never existed in the first place.

 _And now he's dead for true_. She pictured Joff lying still and cold, face black from poison. She could have at least felt guilt for not grieving like she should, but she didn't even feel that. Perhaps she really was the monster they claimed.

The Gate of the Gods was open when they reached it, but two dozen wayns were lined up along the roadside. Almost every wagon had its guards; men-at-arms, sellswords, sometimes only a farmer's son clutching a homemade spear. Jaime smiled at them all as she trotted past, and stares followed her. At the gate, the gold cloaks were collecting coin from each driver before waving the wagons through. 

"What's this?" Steelshanks demanded.

"They got to pay for the right to sell inside the city. By command of the King's Hand and the master of coin,"

"Yet they still line up to pay?" Jaime looked at the long line.

"There's good coin to be made here now that the fighting's done," The miller in the nearest wagon told them cheerfully. "It's the Lannisters hold the city now, old Lord Tywin of the Rock. They say he shits silver,"

"Gold," Jaime corrected dryly. "And Littlefinger mints the stuff from goldenrod, I vow,"

"The Imp is master of coin now," The captain of the gate said. "Or was, till they arrested him for murdering the king," The man looked the northmen over suspiciously. "Who are you lot? Whose the woman?" At least she wasn't recognised as a lady yet. Her plain garb was a good disguise, and no lady would be seen dead with hair cut like hers.

"Lord Bolton's men, come to see the King's Hand," Walton ignored the inquiry about Jaime. The captain squinted at her, but shrugged and glanced at Nage with his peace banner. 

"Come to bend the knee, you mean. You're not the first. Go straight up to the castle, and see you make no trouble," He waved them through.

If King's Landing mourned its dead king, Jaime would never have known it. On the Street of Seeds a begging brother in threadbare robes was praying loudly for Joffrey's soul, but the passersby paid him no more heed than they would a loose shutter banging in the wind. Elsewhere milled the usual crowds; gold cloaks, bakers' boys, whores leaning out of windows with their bodices half unlaced.

Riding down familiar streets with two hundred northmen, a chainless maester, whatever Pia was and a big ugly knight at her side, Jaime found she scarcely drew a second look. She did not know whether she ought to be amused or annoyed. 

"They do not know me," She said to Steelshanks.

"Your face is changed, and you're not decked out in red silk and gold," The northman said. _You make me sound like a prized horse_. "And they have a new Kingslayer now,"

The gates to the Red Keep were open, but a dozen gold cloaks barred the way. They lowered their points as Steelshanks came trotting up, but Jaime recognised the white knight commanding them. 

"Ser Meryn," 

"Lady Jaime?" Meryn Trant's droopy eyes went wide.

"How nice to be remembered. Move these men aside,"

It had been a long time since anyone had leapt to obey her quite so fast. Jaime had forgotten how well she liked it. They found two more Kingsguard in the outer ward, who had not worn white cloaks when Jaime was here last. 

"Someone has given the Kingsguard two new brothers, I see," She dismounted, ignoring the offered hand from the Knight of Flowers; the Northmen had long since learnt that she did not care for such gallantry.

"We have that honour, my lady," Loras Tyrell shone so fine and pure in his white scales and silk that Jaime felt tattered and tawdry by contrast. _Why, he makes a prettier girl than I do_. If his sister Margaery looked anything like that, Orryn was fortunate indeed. For surely, as the new king, he would take his brother's bride; their need for the Tyrell alliance had not changed.

"Ser," Jaime turned to Meryn Trant. "You've been remiss in teaching your new brothers their duties,"

"What duties?" Meryn Trant said defensively.

"Keeping the king alive. How many monarchs have you lost since I left the city? Two, is it?" There was a nasty silence. Then Ser Balon Swann spoke. 

"My lady, your son..."

"Is dead, all agree," Jaime made herself smile. "Where will I find my lord father?"

"In the solar with Lord Tyrell and Prince Oberyn," _Mace Tyrell and the Red Viper breaking bread together? Strange and stranger_. 

"Is the regent with them as well?"

"No, my lady," Ser Balon answered. "Lord Cersen is - "

"You!" Loras Tyrell had seen Brien.

"Ser Loras," He stood stupidly, holding his bridle.

"Why?" Ser Loras strode toward him. "You will tell me why. He treated you kindly, gave you a rainbow cloak. Why would you kill him?"

"I never did. I would have died for him,"

"You will," Ser Loras drew his longsword. _Good luck_. The Knight of Flowers was slightly built; very skilled with a sword, but Brien was too, and he was near the size of the Hound. 

"It was not me,"

"Emmon Cuy swore it was, with his dying breath,"

"He was outside the tent, he never saw - "

"There was no one _in_ the tent but you and Lady Stark. Do you claim that old woman could cut through hardened steel?" Jaime raised an eyebrow at Tyrell's words. Catelyn Stark was but a year older than she was. _You'd be surprised what an old woman can do, ser, if you ever come across me with a sword in hand_. That was a rather good idea, in fact. Jaime would ask the knight for a spar when the opportunity arose. 

"There was a _shadow_. I know how mad it sounds, but... I was helping Renly into his armour, and the candles blew out and there was blood everywhere. I had no part in it, on my honour - "

"You have no honour. Draw your sword. I won't have it said that I slew you while your hand was empty," Jaime stepped between them, feeling rather like she was breaking up a fight between her sons when they were small. 

"Put the sword away, ser," Ser Loras edged around her. 

"Are you a craven as well as a killer, Ser Brien, hiding behind a woman's skirts? Is that why you ran, with his blood on your hands? Draw your sword, man!"

"Best hope he doesn't," Jaime blocked his path again. "Or it's like to be your corpse we carry out. The boy is as strong as a bear, though not so pretty,"

"This is no concern of yours," Loras thoughtlessly shoved her aside, rage clouding his judgement. Before any of the others could protest, Jaime had grabbed the boy by the arm and yanked him around. Her chest hurt, but not as much as it would've done several weeks ago.

"I am the mother of the king, you arrogant pup," She snarled into his face; she had handled Joffrey at his worst, this young fool was nothing. "Which I believe makes me one of the people you guard, so long as you wear that white cloak, so don't bat me out of your way like I'm some tavern wench. Now sheathe your bloody sword, or I'll take it from you and shove it up some place even Renly never found,"

The boy hesitated half a heartbeat, long enough for Ser Balon Swann to speak.

"Do as Lady Baratheon says, Loras," _Lady Baratheon... Haven't heard that in a while_. Some of the gold cloaks drew their steel then, and that made some Dreadfort men do the same. _Splendid_. _No sooner do I climb down off my horse than we have a bloodbath in the yard_.

Ser Loras slammed his sword back into its sheath.

"That wasn't so difficult, was it?"

"I want him arrested," Ser Loras pointed. "Ser Brien, I charge you with the murder of Lord Renly Baratheon,"

"For what it's worth," Jaime said. "The boy does have honour. More than I have seen from you. And it may even be he's telling it true. I'll grant you, he's not what you'd call clever, but even my horse could come up with a better lie, if it was a lie he meant to tell. As you insist, however... Ser Balon, escort Ser Brien to a tower cell and hold him there under guard. And find some suitable quarters for Steelshanks and his men, until such time as my father can see them,"

"Yes, my lady,"

Brien's big blue eyes were full of hurt as Balon Swann and a dozen gold cloaks led him away. _You ought to be blowing me kisses, boy_ , she wanted to tell him. Why must they misunderstand every bloody thing she did? _Aerys. It all grows from Aerys_. Jaime turned her back on him.

"Tell my brother I want to see him," She said to a nearby guard. "I'll be in the sept," With that, she strode across the yard.

Another knight in white armour was guarding the doors of the royal sept; a tall man with a black beard, broad shoulders, and a hooked nose. When he saw Jaime, he gave a sour smile.

"And where do you think you're going, love?" His eyes blatantly crawled up her body.

"Into the sept," Jaime waved her hand. "That one right there. I've arranged to meet with the Lord Regent,"

"His lordship is in mourning, and not in here. I guard King Joffrey. And why would Lord Cersen be wanting to see the likes of you before dark?" _Because I'm his sister, his lover, and the mother of his murdered son_ , she wanted to say. _The son who lies in that sept, the son you guard, the son who died on your watch_. 

Instead she settled with, "Who in seven hells are you?"

"A knight of the Kingsguard, and you'd best learn some respect, wench, or pretty or not, I'll give you a black eye to match the one you've already got," 

"I am the king's mother, ser," Jaime smiled. The dolt took a long look at her face this time. 

"Is it... Lady Jaime," He straightened. "My pardons, milady. I did not know you. I have the honour to be Ser Osmund Kettleblack," _Where's the honour in that?_ She could have made this far more unpleasant for him, given that he'd all but called her a whore and threatened to strike her, but Jaime was simply weary, remembering exactly what lay behind those doors. 

"I want some time alone with my brother... and my son. See that no one else enters the sept but the Lord Regent, ser. If we're disturbed, I'll have your bloody head,"

"Aye, milady. As you say," Ser Osmund opened the door and she swept inside.

Joffrey's bier had been laid out beneath the Stranger. The smell of incense hung heavy in the air, and a hundred candles burned, sending up a hundred prayers. _Joff's like to need every one of them, too_.

Jaime approached the body, her steps echoing on the stone floor. She stopped next to him, tilting her head as she took in the pale skin, blank expression and green painted stones over his eyes. Her own eyes were dry - she'd shed her tears already - but she ran a hand through his hair all the same. It was about the same length as her own now. They had dressed the dead king in gilded armour, eerily similar to Cersen's. The candles reflected softly off the gold plate, so the boy shimmered bright and brave in death as he had not been in life.

Joffrey looked younger like this. Not that that made much difference; he'd been a terror since he learned to walk and talk. Was it awful to think that she liked him better quiet and still? _Though who doesn't like him better like this, truly?_ Jaime took her least favourite son's cold dead hand in her own and squeezed gently, bowing her head.

She wasn't sure how long she stood there, but looked over her shoulder when she heard a noise.

"Jaime?" Her brother's eyes were dark. "Is it truly you?" He did not come to her, however. _He has never come to me_ , she thought. _He has always waited, letting me come to him_. _He gives, but I must ask_. Slowly she stepped towards him. "You should have come sooner," He murmured, when he took her in his arms. She let him, for now, enjoying the feeling of normalcy, setting aside the hurt and anger that had existed when they last met. "Why couldn't you have come sooner? My son died without his mother by his side," _Our son_. 

"I came as fast I could," She broke from the embrace, and stepped back. "It's war out there, Brother,"

"You look so thin. And your hair, your golden hair..." He was looking at her short curls, barely longer than his, in dismay.

"The hair will grow back," Although she wasn't making any promises not to cut it again. Her breast would _not_ grow back _. He needs to see_. But she couldn't bring herself to show him, knowing what he'd say. 

Instead, Cersen turned to gaze angrily at Joffrey's bier. _My son_. 

"He killed him, Jaime. Just as he'd warned me. One day when I thought myself safe and happy, he would turn my joy to ashes in my mouth, he said," His voice was tense, clearly furious at what had happened.

"Tyrion said that?" Jaime had not wanted to believe it, and wasn't sure that she did. "Why would he kill Joff?"

"For a whore," He held her hands tight in his. "He _told_ me he was going to do it. Joff knew. As he was dying, he _pointed_ at his murderer. At our twisted little monster of a brother," He kissed Jaime's fingers. _But how would Joffrey have known?_ "You won't stop me killing him, won't you? You'll let me avenge our son,"

"He is still my brother," Jaime pulled away, glancing at Joffrey on his bier. "And I thought you liked me to do your dirty work, Cersen?"

"You say that like you're better than I am," A flash of anger crossed his face. _Aren't I?_ "Although I suppose even you could do this, it's not exactly beating the Mountain in single combat. Tyrion is a dwarf, locked in a cell. The guards would stand aside easily enough for you," The thought turned her stomach more than the sight of her dead son. 

"I must know more of this. Of how it happened," There had been no convincing evidence against Tyrion yet, and she would not judge her little brother guilty until proven so. 

"You shall," Cersen promised. "There's to be a trial. When you hear all he did, you'll want him dead as much as I do," He touched her face. "I was lost without you, Jaime. I was afraid the Starks would send me your head. I could not have borne that," He kissed her. A light kiss, the merest brush of his lips on hers, but, inexplicably, she could feel herself tense as he slid his arms around her. "I am not whole without you,"

All the anger, grief, pain that she had felt in the past months suddenly rose to the surface, unable to be held back any longer. Jaime was still furious at her brother. The bond between them was irreplaceably changed. There was no tenderness in the kiss she returned to him, only hunger. His mouth opened for her tongue. 

"No," He said weakly when her lips moved down his neck, starting to push her away. "Not here. The septons..."

"The Others can take the septons," She kissed him again, kissed him silent, kissed him until he groaned. Then she knocked the candles aside and her brother lifted her up onto the Mother's altar, pushing up her plain yellow skirts and the woollen shift beneath, murmuring all the while about the risk, the danger, about their father, about the septons, but still kissing her regardless. Jaime barely heard him. She undid his breeches and he pushed her bare legs apart. One hand slid up her thigh, passing over bruises and half-healed cuts, as he pressed her onto her back.

Jaime suddenly tensed, realising that this would be the first time for her since Rorge, Zollo and that fucking fool. 

"What?" Her brother stopped, frowning, though he didn't remove his hand. Gods, why did she have to think of that now? _No, this is different_ , and it really was, in every way, though she was suddenly struck with the absurd fear that her brother might notice what had happened. _Of course he won't, I was hardly a maid before... I've had eight children for gods sake_. She brushed it aside. Now wasn't the time. When was?

"I've been away so long," She replied instead. "So long..." Her brother smiled and slid his hand underneath her smallclothes. 

"You're home now, sister. Hurry," He was whispering now. "Quickly, _quickly_ , now, _move_ , Jaime. Jaime Jaime Jaime," Her hands helped guide him. "Yes," Cersen said as he thrust, "My sister, sweet sister, yes, like that, yes, I have you, you're home now, you're _home,_ " He kissed her and stroked her hair. Jaime lost herself. She could feel Cersen's heart beating in time with her own.

But no sooner were they done than her brother climbed off her.

"Get up," He said rather dismissively. "If we are discovered like this..."

She didn't know why she'd expected anything more. Jaime rolled upright and slid off the altar, already remembering exactly why they'd fought in the first place. She bent to pick up the candles she had knocked over. Fortunately they had all gone out when they fell. _If the sept had caught fire I might never have noticed_. To think that Cersen had once hoped for her to be a septa, and here she was, the feeling of her brother's hands on her still. The thought was darkly amusing. 

"This was folly," He laced up his breeches. "With Father in the castle... Jaime, we must be careful,"

"I am sick of being careful. The Targaryens wed brother to sister, why shouldn't we do the same? Marry me, Cersen," She said mockingly. "Stand up before the realm and say it's me you want," 

"That's not funny," He drew back.

"I'd have done it once, you know,"

"Did you leave the few wits you had at Riverrun? This is hardly the time for japes," His voice had an edge to it, completely missing her point. "Your second son has the throne now, and you know he has no love for me. Already it has been made clear that I will not be his regent as I was for Joffrey," _So that's it, is it? We've gotten to the bottom of things at last_.

"And you don't think that fucking his mother will endear you to the new king?" She grinned.

"Don't... don't talk like this," Cersen looked at her oddly. "You're scaring me, Jaime. Don't be stupid. One wrong word and you'll cost us everything. What did they do to you?" He backed off a step. "We'll talk later. On the morrow. I have Sansa Stark in a tower cell, and her maids. I need to question them... You should go to Father,"

"I crossed a thousand leagues to come to you. You still owe me answers from everything we fought about before I left. We stand here, beside the dead body of my son. Don't tell me to leave,"

"Leave me," He repeated, turning away.

Jaime straightened her dress and did as he commanded, feeling the rags in her bodice press against her healing skin. _I never told him_. 

Weary as she was, as much as she longed to see her children, she could not seek a bed, nor her sons and daughters. By now her lord father knew that she was back in the city, and he demanded an audience even before the king did.

The Tower of the Hand was guarded by Lannister men, who knew her at once. 

"The gods are good, to give you back to us, my lady," One said, as he held the door.

"The gods had no part in it. Catelyn Stark gave me back. Her, and the Lord of the Dreadfort,"

She climbed the stairs and pushed into the solar unannounced, to find her father sitting by the fire. Lord Tywin was alone, for which Jaime was thankful. She had no desire to flaunt her injury for Mace Tyrell or the Red Viper just now, much less the two of them together. Her own father would be bad enough. In an ideal world, she would hide it even from him, but this was the best way to vengeance. 

"Jaime," Lord Tywin said, as if they'd last seen each other at breakfast. "Lord Bolton led me to expect you earlier. I had hoped you'd be here for the wedding,"

"I was delayed," Jaime closed the door softly. "My brother outdid himself, I'm told. Seventy-seven courses and a regicide, never a wedding like it. How long have you known I was free?"

"The eunuch told me a few days after your escape. I sent men into the riverlands to look for you. Gregor Clegane, Samwell Spicer, the brothers Plumm. Varys put out the word as well, but quietly. We agreed that the fewer people who knew you were free, the fewer would be hunting you,"

"Did Varys mention this?" She moved closer to the fire, reaching down the front of her dress. Her father raised an eyebrow, opening his mouth, but she pulled out the rags to let him see. Lord Tywin pushed himself out of his chair, breath hissing between his teeth.

"Who did this? If Lady Catelyn thinks - "

"Lady Catelyn held a sword to my throat and made me swear to return her daughters. This was your goat's work. Vargo Hoat, the Lord of Harrenhal!" Lord Tywin looked away, disgusted and furious, clearly wondering what else they'd done to despoil his daughter if they'd gotten close enough to give her that particular injury. 

"No longer. Ser Gregor's taken the castle. The sellswords deserted their erstwhile captain almost to a man, and some of Lady Whent's old people opened a postern gate. Clegane found Hoat sitting alone in the Hall of a Hundred Hearths, half-mad with pain and fever from a wound that festered. His ear, I'm told," Jaime had to laugh. _Too sweet! His ear..._ She could scarcely wait to tell Brien, though the boy wouldn't find it half so funny as she did. 

"Is he dead yet?"

"Soon. They have taken off his hands and feet, but Clegane seems amused by the way the Qohorik slobbers," Jaime's smile curdled. 

"What about his Brave Companions?" _Rorge. Zollo. Shagwell_.

"The few who stayed at Harrenhal are dead. The others scattered. They'll make for ports, I'll warrant, or try and lose themselves in the woods," His eyes went back to Jaime's chest, or lack of, and his mouth grew taut with fury. "We'll have their heads. Every one. Were you raped?" The cold, blunt question caught her off guard. It shouldn't have.

 _Yes Father, I was, but why would I tell you?_ Jaime ignored the sick feeling in her stomach, the disgust at talking of this with her stone-faced father, and smiled sharply. 

"Some of them tried. You should be glad Hoat seemed to fear you even after turning his cloak. He had the sense to stop them, for purely practical reasons I'm sure," The half-truths spilled easily from her lips, but she'd been lying to her father her entire life.

"Good," Her father sat. "That is good. I have a gift for you. For your return. After Varys told me..."

"Let it wait," Jaime took the chair across from him. "How did Joffrey die?" She was alarmed at how calm her voice was. _He was your son_ , both her own thoughts and her father's eyes seemed to say, though the man seemed to appreciate that she wasn't hysterical and wailing. No doubt he'd had to put up with Cersen's rage-fuelled tantrums for days. _Perhaps the best thing Joff ever did was be the only one stupid enough to stand up to Tywin Lannister_. The interactions between her son and her father had given Jaime a good number of laughs over the years.

"Poison. It was meant to appear as though he choked on a morsel of food, but I had his throat slit open and the maesters could find no obstruction,"

"Cersen claims that Tyrion did it,"

"Your brother served the king the poisoned wine, with a thousand people looking on,"

"That was rather foolish of him,"

"I have taken Tyrion's squire into custody. His wife and her maids as well. We shall see if they have anything to tell us. The king's justice will be done," _The king's justice_. 

"You would execute your own son?"

"He stands accused of regicide and kinslaying. If he is innocent, he has nothing to fear. First we must consider the evidence for and against him," _Evidence_. In this city of liars, Jaime knew what sort of evidence would be found. 

"Renly died strangely as well,"

"Lord Renly was murdered by one of his own guards, some knight from Tarth,"

"That knight from Tarth is the reason I'm here. I tossed him into a cell to appease Ser Loras, but I'll believe in Renly's ghost before I believe he did him any harm. But - "

"It was poison that killed Joffrey, not sorcery," Lord Tywin glanced at the flat side of Jaime's chest again. "You must get dresses fitted with padding to hide your injury. You will need to marry again - "

"I can't," She interrupted. "And I won't. I'm over thirty years old. I've been through six pregnancies, had eight children. I'm scarred and spoiled, both from bearing children and from various incidents along the road. And in case you hadn't realised, I'm currently rather lopsided. Why would I marry again, and more importantly, who would take me?"

"You are a widow, mother to two kings now, and young enough to bear more children if needs must. We are in need of allies, which are best achieved through marriage, and if it will put those disgusting incest rumours to rest - "

" - it will make no difference," Jaime stood. "People talk regardless, but I am tired of having men kick pails of shit at me, Father. No one ever asked me if I wanted to marry Stannis, but I did it. I bore him _eight children_ , the last of which near killed me, and now he's dead, I have a duty to raise the ones that are left,"

"You do have a duty," Lord Tywin rose as well. "A duty to House Lannister. You are a child of Casterly Rock, and I mean to find you a new husband. Oberyn Martell perhaps, once I convince Lord Tyrell that the match does not threaten Highgarden. If not, then Willas Tyrell - "

"NO!" Jaime had heard all that she could stand. No, _more_ than she could stand. She was sick of it, sick of lords and lies, sick of her father, her brother, sick of the whole bloody business. "No. No. No. No. No. How many times must I say _no_ before you'll hear it? Why do men never seem to understand that word?" Lord Tywin's eyes narrowed dangerously but she continued regardless. _"Oberyn Martell?_ The man's infamous, and not just for poisoning his sword. He has more bastards than Robert, and beds with boys as well. You'd be better off giving him to Cersen; there's more chance of a child from that union than any involving me, I can tell you. And if you think for one misbegotten moment that I would wed the crippled Tyrell boy..."

"Willas Tyrell is four and twenty, a man grown, heir to Highgarden and as yet unmarried,"

"He can die unmarried as far as I'm concerned. I don't want him, and _I don't want any more children!"_ And there it was, the extent of her motherly grief that she would show to her father.

"You are my daughter - "

"I am the mother of the king. And that's _all_ I mean to be!"

Firelight gleamed golden in the stiff whiskers that framed Lord Tywin's face. A vein pulsed in his neck, but he did not speak. And did not speak. And did not speak. The strained silence went on until it was more than Jaime could endure. 

"Father..."

"You are my daughter," Lord Tywin repeated again. "Oberyn Martell, or Willas Tyrell, whichever suits House Lannister best. You will not get a choice in the matter. Go. Your second son will surely wish to see you tomorrow. As _mother to the king_ , _"_ He gave a slight sneer. "You should look less like a dirty tavern wench when you do,"

They had reached the city at dusk, and between Ser Loras, Cersen and her father, it was now much later. Night had fallen, the torches were lit, but Jaime couldn't find a bed until she had seen at least some of her children, for the first time in over a year.

She hoped their rooms were still in the same places; the girls and Steffon had been given a place in Maegor's Holdfast even before Robert's death, as his nieces and nephews, whilst Arthur had slept in a cell with several other squires. Joffrey had been near Cersen's rooms, until he abruptly became heir to the throne upon the deaths of Lyonel and Stannis. Jaime went to Maegor's.

Slowly, quietly, she opened the door to the room that Myrcella and Helia had shared. She only meant to catch a glimpse, but the breath voice caught in Jaime's throat as the tall, dark-haired girl sat at the window turned to face her, blue eyes almost black in the candlelight. Helia had never been a stunningly beautiful child, not like Myrcella, but she had always been elegant, and in the year that Jaime had been away, she had grown into the stronger features of her face.

"Mother," Her daughter rose quickly to her feet, and Jaime could tell even from this distance that the girl was taller than she was now. She had filled out her formerly skinny and coltish frame, too. _She looks a woman grown. She nearly is_.

It was one of the few occasions where Jaime was unsure what to say. She didn't know what to expect from her eldest daughter, not after everything that had happened. Judgement? Scorn? Hatred? Or simple disdain. From the look in Helia's eyes, she couldn't tell. The girl had never been quiet, exactly, but had always been rather hard to read.

Then that tall, handsome young woman crossed the room in long, leggy strides and wrapped her arms around her mother just like she always had done. It was sweeter than Cersen's embrace, sweeter than anything Jaime had felt in months, for that moment untainted with deceit or judgement or pain. The top of her head only came up to Helia's nose now, but the gesture was most definitely still a mother embracing her daughter.

"Helia," Was all Jaime could think to say.

"You've been gone for so long," Came the small murmur into her hair. Jaime realised with a jolt of surprise that her daughter was crying, hot tears running from her face. Of all her children, Helia had always cried the least, and Jaime felt more grief at this than she'd ever feel for Joffrey's death. _How long has she had to be strong on her own, to pretend?_

"I'm sorry," Jaime could probably count on her fingers the number of times she'd offered a sincere apology in the past two decades. Her daughter's strong arms merely gripped tighter - _acceptance, forgiveness_ , she dared to hope - and Jaime never wanted to let go.

They did let go, in the end of course, and she could see Helia looking her up and down with a critical eye.

"You're thinner," Was the first thing she said upon meeting Jaime's raised eyebrow, blunt as ever. _I thought the first thing to mention would be the hair_. It was as though the girl read her mind. "And what happened to your hair?"

"Waist length golden curls tend to attract attention when you're being hunted across the Riverlands," She said, smiling slightly. _It can also help kill you in a fight_. "And I've been living off dried meat and acorns for weeks," _If only_. Vargo Hoat had fed her gruel and horse piss. "Of course I'm thinner. Before that I dined on nothing but the best available in Riverrun's dungeons,"

"They put you in a dungeon," Her daughter's lip thinned like Stannis' had done when he was displeased, though there was something of Cersen glinting in her blue eyes. "We've had Sansa Stark living in Maegor's Holdfast, and they threw you in some stinking pit?"

"That was only after I slew four guards trying to escape," She had to admit, repeating her words to Catelyn Stark. "I cared little. A cell is a cell,"

"How did you escape?" Helia asked. "The last time," _And what happened in between there and here to make me look like this, you mean?_ Though none of Jaime's children would ever get the full story out of her. 

"Lady Catelyn released me to send her daughters back to her," The words felt somewhat sour in her mouth. Sansa Stark was still here, but if she was found to have any part in Joffrey's death, she would never leave alive. "But I return here to find my brother has lost one of them, and the other is held under suspicion for regicide," The girl opened her mouth again, but Jaime cut her off with a raised hand, glancing over to the other bed. "How is she?" Golden curls spilled across the pillow as Myrcella slept soundly, looking as good as the maiden herself. She was almost identical to how Jaime had been at that age, eleven, nearly twelve.

"Fine," Helia shrugged. "She's not stupid, though. And she's not Joffrey. She's heard the rumours. I tried asking her about it, but she deflected me with a smile and those pretty courtesies she chirps so well," She gave Jaime a hard look then. "Are they rumours? Or are they true?" 

"You seemed to have made up your own mind on that," Jaime said. "No doubt you'll be asking me next if King Robert fathered the rest of you,"

"Mother," Helia's eyes narrowed. "You owe us all the truth. Not just this, but what happened to you as well. That look on your face, you're not just tired, you're - "

"Old?" She quirked an eyebrow, and her daughter's lips twitched. 

"No," Helia sighed, sitting down on the bed. Jaime joined her, inwardly marvelling at how soft it was after months sleeping on hard ground. "No, you're beautiful, as always. I just - we were so worried, and..." She trailed off, looking determinedly at a point in the embers of the fire. With her parents being who they were, it was a miracle Helia had even expressed herself that much. 

"I shouldn't have left," Jaime found herself saying. "I should have gone with you all to Storm's End," The words sounded feeble even as she said them.

"You should have," Helia raised an eyebrow. "Why didn't you?" Jaime just shook her head. There was another pause. "I don't hate you, you know," She gave her daughter a sideways look, and the girl smiled faintly. "When you came in you looked like you were marching to a funeral. You've started to get that look again now," Jaime had to smile, placing an arm around the girl and pulling her close to lean her head on her shoulder, like they hadn't done in years. 

"Honestly? You're the best welcome I've received since arriving in this bloody city," She felt her daughter give a small snort of laughter.

"Who have you seen so far?"

"First it was Loras Tyrell brandishing his sword and trying to murder one of my guards," It was easy to slip into the telling of it. "Then another gallant knight, Kettleback, mistook me for a whore and took far too long to let me into the castle," She would not mention the sept, not considering Helia was the only one of her children likely to be mildly upset by Joffrey's death. "Then I had a delightful conversation with Cersen and your grandfather. I believe the topics of discussion were 'why were you so long returning' and 'Jaime, how different you look',"

"Welcome back," Helia said dryly. "There's even more madness here than usual. It'll be scarcely a day before you'll be longing to be roaming the Riverlands again," _I wouldn't quite say that, dear_. 

"For now," Jaime said. "I'm glad to be back. And tired," She paused. "Where do I even sleep? My usual rooms are guest chambers, and given how many turned up for the wedding..."

"Sleep here," Her daughter shrugged. "With us. It'll be like it was years ago," She smiled wryly, knowing it never would be, but Jaime chuckled. 

"If you can put up with the smell of me," She said. "It would be my pleasure,"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the Red Wedding has not happened yet. In canon, Jaime and Brien hear of it on the way from Harrenhal to King's Landing, but here they did not; Bolton was meant to leave Harrenhal at the same time they did, but stayed another few weeks as the wedding was mysteriously delayed. He has only set off around the time they arrived in King's Landing. 
> 
> Sansa also did not escape when Joffrey died, and is currently in Lannister custody. More on that later. 
> 
> A small issue I noticed; I've accidentally left Renly as still being killed by the shadow, even though Stannis is dead and Melisandre has not made an appearance. I'm not sure if anyone noticed, and I've likely drawn more attention to it by putting it in the note but ah well. It is a very small part of the story, and only serves to set up Brien's character; if you're that bothered by it, imagine Melisandre is casting spells from afar, given Orryn is the son of Stannis, her Azor Ahai. Apologies for that small plot hole, but it's so irrelevant to this story that I don't feel I need to go back and fix it. 
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoyed! Thanks for reading.


	11. Strong Words

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDITED 16/12/20 - some rather crucial changes

Awaking that morning in a feather bed with plump pillows and embroidered sheets, rather than a forest floor or hard dungeon wall, was rather surreal for Jaime. It was dawn, and she did not wake to dozens of men preparing to ride off for the day, but instead to two girls - _my daughters_ , and didn't that thought make her smile - sleeping soundly, the morning sunlight blocked by thick curtains. It felt strange to wake up and not find Brien's broad face glowering down at her.

Jaime silently slid out from under the blankets, trying not to wake Helia. Instead of simply sleeping in the same clothes she'd been wearing for weeks, she'd had the luxury of changing into a soft nightgown, white and spotlessly clean. Well, until she'd worn it, at least. She needed a bath desperately, and grimaced at the travel dust and grim she had left on the pristine sheets, greying the edges of her nightgown. 

Deciding to chance that her old rooms were still hers, she padded barefoot out of her daughters' chambers and down the corridor. Thankfully, her belongings were untouched, the room was unoccupied, and she found Pia there already awake, leafing through her wardrobe with an expression of mild awe. Jaime cleared her throat.

"Oh!" The girl jumped, eyes wide. "I'm so sorry, milady, I - "

"You're a lady's maid, it's your job to go through my dresses," She shrugged. Pia smiled rather sheepishly. "You can have one of the plainer ones, if you like, I'll give you coin to get it altered. You still look like a girl from a buttery,"

"Really?" The girl beamed, forgetting her title as she often had during their weeks travelling from Harrenhal. Jaime had to laugh. 

"Yes, really," She moved over to the window, taking in the familiar view over Blackwater Bay. _It's as if no time has passed at all_. "Pick one out for me, too, and send someone for bath water," Her stomach rumbled, reminding her she hadn't eaten since noon the day before. "And breakfast,"

After her bath, she found that all her clothes fit poorly, and not only for the obvious reason that her chest had rather unevenly halved in size. Jaime had known that since Riverrun that she had lost weight, but hadn't fully appreciated it in the borrowed collection of clothes she had worn. It was startling to see how gowns that had once fitted like a glove hung off her, how the bodice gaped loose even on the side of her chest that hadn't been mutilated. 

Pia chose well, however, selecting a rarely-worn, high-necked gown of dark red, which concealed the fact she was stuffing half her chest at least. Despite the ill-fitting clothes, Jaime felt more like herself than she had done in months as she sat down to eat. She had never been a lady to religiously watch what she ate, as training with a sword took care of her figure, but now ate intentionally more than she would normally, intending to get her strength back as soon as she could. 

It was still early morning when the door to her chambers burst open and two dark haired blurs flew in.

"Mother!" She was scarcely on her feet before they collided with her legs. Jaime felt a lump rising in her throat as she knelt on the ground beside her youngest daughters, flinging her arms tightly around both of them, unable to say a word. They smelt the same, she realised, both dressed in their nightclothes still. _At least they're glad to see me_. But Argella and Roanna were too young to understand everything that had happened. There was no guarantee that the others would be as enthused by her return. A tired, caught-off-guard Helia was one thing _. I'd be surprised if Orryn could even look at me, and gods, Myrcella_.

Jaime pulled back after a while, and the questions started almost immediately.

"You look different, Mother," Argella frowned.

"Why's your hair all short?" Roanna.

"It was much prettier when it was long,"

"You're still pretty now, though," Jaime had to laugh, hugging them both again, burying her face in Roanna's curly dark hair. The twins were still small, but definitely not as small as they had been when she last saw them.

"I'll be wondering why in less than an hour, but gods, I missed you both. Irritating little hellions that you are," Both girls gave identical grins, but her eyes had turned to the door, where Myrcella stood with Steffon, Helia behind them. All three were dressed, but had clearly done so in a hurry. 

Her daughter was golden and beautiful and wore a prettily crafted smile on her face, not at all like her usual mischievous grin. On the other hand, her youngest son's face was as closed and reserved as ever, but she saw the happiness and relief shining in his eyes. Jaime got to her feet.

"You've grown," She said to both of them, unable to stop herself beaming. "Steffon, you'll be taller than me soon, and Cella you'll be twice as beautiful," The girl's expression faltered slightly, although the look did seem more genuine than that pretty smile. _I'm your mother even if I've done a poor job of it. You can't pretend with me_.

"I'm glad to see you again, Mother," Her daughter said, perfectly politely, still holding back. Jaime would have to deal with that soon, but for now just turned to Steffon.

"I heard you finally let Arthur take you into the training yard," Helia had told her the night before. Her son smiled a small smile at that.

"It wasn't so bad, really," He said. "I'm not as good as Arthur was, but not as bad as Joff - " He broke off, giving her a wary look, but Jaime just smiled.

"Even Orryn wasn't as good as Arthur was," She said. "Now, come here. I've missed you," She held out her arms to the boy, and luckily he wasn't too much like his father, for he gladly flung himself into her arms. The height he was, resting his head against her chest, put pressure on her still-healing wound in a way the twins had not, and Jaime winced, drawing back slightly, which didn't go unnoticed.

"Are you hurt?" Helia asked with a frown. Steffon stepped away, and Myrcella was eyeing her carefully, concern in her green eyes.

"I was," Jaime shrugged. "Not too badly, but it takes time to heal,"

"How were you hurt?" Myrcella spoke with narrowed eyes, sounding like the daughter she knew for the first time rather than a pretty talking doll.

"Just a scratch that got infected," There was no chance she was telling any of her children that there were men out there who had held their mother down, stripped her half-naked and cut off her breast with a Dothraki sword. "Hardly a heroic war wound. I'm fine now, a maester saw to it,"

There was a pause, and Helia opened her mouth, but was cut off by the door bursting open again, and Arthur barrelled into the room, fully dressed and clearly intending to go to the training yard before he had heard she was back. 

Her third son had grown the most of all of them, and Jaime blinked at the sight of him; he had always looked more of a Lannister despite his dark hair and blue eyes, but now he looked just like a young Cersen, wearing Jaime's own grin rather than a smirk, straight hair rather than curly and with the larger nose of Stannis Baratheon.

"You're back!" He was several inches taller than she was now, taller than Helia, though was still skinny and beanpole-like, not having filled out yet. There was no tense silence, no awkward courtesies, Arthur simply threw his arms around her, actually lifting her off the ground slightly, making her wince again, but this time she was careful to hide it. 

"I don't think even the twins gave me such an enthusiastic welcome," She couldn't help but smirk when he let her go. "Why haven't the other squires mocked being a mother's boy out of you, yet?"

"They might try, but they know better," He grinned. "I beat them into the dust every day in the yard," 

"There's the cocky little brat I know," She reached up to ruffle his hair, knowing he disliked it. Sure enough, he ducked away, pulling a face. "It's not my fault you haven't had a haircut in weeks,"

"As you can see, Arthur's trying to grow his hair to match mine," Helia smiled teasingly, turning to her brother. "I think it's longer than Mother's, now. You'll have to get the twins to braid it for you,"

"Yes, yes, yes," Argella - having moved on some time ago to bothering Pia (who seemed perfectly happy to indulge them... or at least didn't look to need saving yet) - beamed, rushing up to her brother, who glared at Helia.

"Cella showed us how," Roanna added.

"I've got new red ribbons,"

"You'll look like a girl," Both twins burst out laughing. Helia looked rather pleased with herself, Myrcella was smiling in amusement, whilst Arthur gave them both a dirty look.

"Where is Orryn?" Jaime asked. "He's the only one of you I haven't seen yet," Joffrey was dead, and she'd even seen _him_ before her second son. 

"He'll already be in meetings," Helia said with a slight frown. It was scarcely an hour past dawn; who could he possibly be meeting with? Jaime's confusion must have shown on her face. "Joff and Uncle Cersen left us all in quite a mess," The girl continued with a grim smile. Jaime noticed how none of the others blinked at the mention of their brother, or even looked sad. Worst of all, she couldn't bring herself to blame them. 

"Have you seen Uncle Cersen yet?" Myrcella asked abruptly, falling flat in attempting her usual amused grin. Jaime turned to stare at her. As did all the others. The little twins were oblivious, backing to hassling Pia, but Arthur nudged his sister none too subtly in the side, whilst Helia shot her a rather Tywin-like glare. Even Steffon stared, looking eerily like his father. 

"I saw him yesterday, when I returned," Jaime smiled. She wasn't going to lie to her daughter, but she was hardly going to tell her the entire truth either. _I fucked your uncle-father in the sept, next to the corpse of your brother, our bastard son_. That would surely go down well.

"Very late, then," Myrcella said, in the same tone the best fakers at court used. "Helia said you didn't make it to our chambers until midnight,"

"Cella," Arthur murmured, but Jaime silenced him with a look. _Good, that still works_. 

"One of the first things your uncle said to me was to ask if I could talk him into Orryn's good graces," She said, looking straight at her daughter, smile gone. "Then he asked why I took so long to come back. 'Joffrey died without his mother at his side', I believe were Cersen's kind words. I left shortly after, to see your grandfather," None of that was technically untrue. Myrcella's pretty smile had dropped too. Green eyes met green, and they seemed to come to an understanding. _We'll talk later_.

There was a silence. 

"I heard someone saying a brave young knight brought you home safely," Arthur cut in, deftly turning the conversation around with a mocking grin her way. "Did you play the damsel in distress, Mother? Reward him with a kiss?" 

"Why you little - " Jaime slapped his arm sharply, catching him even as he dodged away. She grinned back nonetheless. "I wouldn't say he brought me home safely. We were attacked several times, wounded, held prisoner - " _Mutilated, raped... ended up in a bear pit_... "Though the man can fight, I'll give him that," Her smile sharpened. "I'd like to see him knock some of your corners off in the training yard,"

"I beat nine out of every ten men they put against me," Her son scoffed. 

"You haven't beaten your mother yet," She said. "Cocky little shit that you are. He did," She paused. "Though I was in chains at the time, and weak from the dungeon," _Either way, he's got over half a foot on you, along with eight years experience, and is built like an aurochs_.

"He beat _you?"_ That was all Arthur had taken from her words, sounding slightly awed. Then his expression turned mischievous. "You don't seem to have many of your corners knocked off,"

"Gods, why on earth did I want to come back?" Jaime cut him off, shaking her head. "I'll take you to meet Ser Brien later, if that's what you want," The look on Brien's face at the boy would be amusing, at least. "Don't try on your own, he's locked up in a tower cell,"

"Why?" Arthur said, but was cut off by Helia's slight gasp.

"Ser Brien of Tarth?" She asked with narrowed eyes. "That's the man who brought you back?"

"But he killed Uncle Renly," Myrcella exclaimed. In all truth, Jaime had forgotten about that. 

"No he didn't," 

"Then why's he in a cell?"

"To stop Loras Tyrell trying to gut him, and getting himself killed in the process,"

"Because he killed Renly,"

" _No_ ," She took a deep breath, speaking rather shortly. "I give you my word that Ser Brien did not kill your uncle. And I know my word doesn't particularly count for much, not least because I'm a kingslayer myself, but - "

"They say Uncle Tyrion's a kingslayer," Myrcella said. That brought the whole conversation down as every single gaze darkened. "But I don't believe them. Tyrion hated Joffrey, but so did all of us, I know he didn't kill him. Mother, now you're back you have to do something, they've locked him away in a cell," 

"She's right," Arthur said. "I've tried to visit him, but the guards wouldn't let me in," He scowled. "I went to Orryn, but he said it's for the best. He's a hypocrite though, I know he's been to visit at least three times,"

"Orryn's spoken to Tyrion?" Jaime asked sharply. Truly, she did not know what to think of this whole matter. In her heart of hearts, she did not believe her brother would kill Joffrey, simply because he was her son. She had shown Tyrion nothing but kindness and love since he was born, despite their father and Cersen's hatred of him, and her little brother had no reason to want to hurt her. And even if Tyrion cared nothing for his sister, he was clever enough to make it look like more of an accident, rather than creating a spectacle in front of the whole court. 

"Yes, but he doesn't tell us anything," Helia rolled her eyes. "Not even me. Of course, he hasn't said anything of it to Lord Tywin or Uncle Cersen about it either, which at least irritates them," 

This was good, Jaime supposed. Orryn was taking care to make his own judgements, rather than blindly following his advisors, his grandfather. But Orryn was not yet a man grown, so would not have the final say over Tyrion's fate. Except...

"Cersen isn't the regent anymore," She said slowly. She hadn't paid much thought to what her brother had said besides being irritated by it, hadn't taken time to understand what that truly meant. _I'm the king's mother, I would have been Joffrey's regent if I was here, Cersen was simply the next best thing_. "Who is?" Helia smiled. 

"I think Orryn wanted it to be you," _But Lord Tywin has the final say, of course, behind the scenes, for it's his armies supporting the king_. He'd want someone he could easily control, who was unquestionably loyal to the Lannisters. Jaime would have been the perfect candidate... until her conversation with her father the previous night, where she had proven the exact opposite. _Gods_. 

She didn't even want the position in truth, and knew she would loathe attending hours of small council meetings, but if it meant Tyrion's life, she'd do it all in a heartbeat.

*

"Your grace, Lady Jaime Baratheon to see you," The herald announced. 

"Your grace," Jaime dipped into a flawless curtsey, though she did not lower her eyes, holding his gaze. He might be the king, but he was still her son, still a boy of four-and-ten. 

"You don't have to do that," A faint smile played at Orryn's lips as he rose to meet her. He had grown, her son, inches over six feet even now, and unlike his brother Arthur had filled out a lot too. He almost looked a man grown. He did look a king, stood there at his desk, surrounded by parchments and advisors instructing him in dealing with the realm's finances, wearing that modest circlet on his brow. "It's good to see you, Mother,"

"It's good to see you too," She smiled back. "And I felt like I should curtsey at least once," Jaime moved to sit, as everyone present filed out of the king's solar at a wave of Orryn's hand. She doubted Robert had ever used this room, or even knew it existed. "Lest they start to say the new king lets his own mother disrespect him,"

"If Catelyn Stark had not disrespected her son, we would not have you back," Her son let a note of softness into his voice as he sat down. There was a pause, then he abruptly sat up somewhat straighter, to get down to business. "And we wouldn't be in so strong a position for negotiation,"

"You mean to negotiate with the Starks, then?" Her tone was carefully neutral, but Jaime was relieved. Continued war meant Orryn, and likely Arthur too, marching off to fight. Neither of them were Joffrey, content to sit safely behind castle walls whilst their grandfather won their battles for them. Likely the only reason Orryn hadn't already fought in the War of the Five Kings was the uncertain situation in the Stormlands that needed his presence to win back those foolish enough to side with Renly.

"Robb Stark rebelled against Joffrey for arresting and killing his father," Her son shrugged. "And the rumours about Joff and Myrcella only added fuel to the fire," Jaime grimaced, thankful when he continued without lingering on the matter. "I, however, did not kill Lord Eddard, and look unquestionably Baratheon. Surely Stark can see that now the Tyrells have finally joined our cause, and the Arryn's show no sign of declaring for the King in the North, that all hope is lost unless we offer terms?" Behind that visage of a strong king, confident in his decisions, Jaime was perhaps the only one who could see the slightly unsure boy asking reassurance.

"Some might say that offering peace terms makes you look weak," She raised an eyebrow. He gave a short laugh. 

"That's what Grandfather said," Jaime blinked, not liking the comparison, but her son carried on. "In that same manner, as well. Testing me, not challenging me,"

"And what did you say to him?"

"The Starks have held the North for eight thousand years," Orryn replied in a manner that showed he had gone over this many times already. "We can't leave the largest kingdom in turmoil for the coming winter, we need their taxes to pay off our own debts. No other house can hope to return those lands to order in such a short time. Robb Stark had fair reason to rebel, but now Joffrey is dead, this is his chance to retreat without losing too much face. Not to mention that many of his bannermen would welcome returning home, given that their lands, and Winterfell itself, are overrun with Ironborn,"

"You've thought it through, at least," Jaime sat back. "That's more than Joffrey or Robert ever did. Or Aerys, for that matter. Make peace with the Starks so they can march north and defeat the Ironborn. Two birds with one stone,"

"It's good to hear you approve of that, at least," He grimaced then, and she narrowed her eyes. 

"What haven't you told me?"

"Our army will be marching north with them," Orryn said. "With me at its head. Along with Ser Kevan. It will take a lot more than signed paper to convince the Starks that the moment winter is over we won't just march to Winterfell and slaughter them all,"

"And why do we care what the Starks think of us?" Jaime snapped. "Peace terms are more than rebels deserve. They should be bloody grateful for it, and traipse obediently back to shiver in their cold miserable lands. Diplomacy is one thing, Orryn, but personally leading men into _enemy lands_... What is stopping Robb Stark from killing _you_ the moment you break through Moat Cailin?"

"Honour," At least the boy smiled at that, acknowledging the emptiness of the word, so his mother didn't have to slap him around the head. She laughed in his face as it was. "If we fight at his side, he wouldn't betray us. Not to mention the army marching at my back will be Baratheon soldiers, not Lannisters, they've never faced the Starks in the field. Some likely even fought together in the rebellion,"

"And if Stark betrays you regardless?" She asked him. "What then?"

"He will not," Orryn sighed. "Allies in war is not the only way our two families will be linked," It took a second or so for his meaning to sink in.

"Of course not," Jaime slumped back in the chair, not at all surprised, her tone wry. "I did think Edmure Tully's wedding was cancelled rather suddenly," She knew what was coming, but that didn't make hearing it any easier. 

"The Tullys and Starks both made a bitter enemy of the Freys in doing so, but better be hated by Walder Frey than by the Iron Throne," Orryn grimaced again, but didn't hesitate to speak on. "Edmure Tully will marry Helia instead of the Frey girl when we march north. It's in the peace terms," 

"Strategically," Jaime said, fighting her temper. "That is a good plan. A very good plan. I'm sure my father was beside himself with glee when he thought it up,"

"And otherwise?" He ignored the rather childish jibe at his lack of true power.

"Your sister is fourteen," She dug her nails into the palms of her hands. "Edmure Tully is a feeble-minded fool of a man, who is too fond of women by half and can sulk like a spoilt boy. Not to mention he kept me in that bloody dungeon for months," She held up a hand. "I won't try and stop the wedding, I'm not that idiotic. But I want you to know what you're doing," Her son nodded slowly. 

"I understand," He said. _You never will, but at least you try_. "I am sorry, for Helia and for you," Yes, she could hardly forget she would be sold off to a Dornish man-whore or a Highgarden cripple soon enough. "But she and I are the only ones who will marry as a matter of urgency. The others can surely wait - "

"The others?" Jaime's eyes sharpened. 

"Grandfather didn't tell you?" Orryn looked rather irritated. "I thought he would have, given it was his idea," She drew in a long suffering sigh, forcing a smile on her face. 

"And how many of my children has my lord father sold off in my absence?"

"I will marry Margaery Tyrell," Her son said. "As you know. Helia will marry Edmure Tully. Argella is betrothed to Robert Arryn - the boy is eight now, so near enough in age - and Arthur to Sansa Stark," All of that made Jaime's head spin, but all she could focus on was the last. 

" _Sansa Stark?_ Firstly, she's married to Tyrion, and second, you will not get peace from her brother unless you give her back to her family. The only reason Lady Catelyn released me was to return her daughters safe and well. We don't even _have_ Arya,"

"Tyrion never consummated the marriage," Orryn said. _Well good on you, little brother, for not fucking your child bride_. "Thankfully, as there are already plans to annul it. We'll return Sansa for three years or so, until she's six-and-ten. Then she travels south again to become Lady Baratheon," _Oh yes, Arthur's a lord now. Gods help us_.

"Right," Jaime sat heavily back in the chair, thinking. "Right," If it wasn't her children, she would applaud her father for what he had managed to do. To drag the kingdoms from the depths of war, through a pen and paper. Of course, the Starks still had to agree to the terms, but the West and the Stormlands were a given, the Tyrells were allies through marriage, and if these betrothals went ahead then they would have the Arryn's for sure, and likely the Riverlands too, albeit reluctantly. And if she was still meant to be sold off to Oberyn Martell, that meant they'd have Dorne too. 

All her children, in all seven corners of Westeros, away from her. 

"I'm coming to Helia's wedding," Her tone was not up for discussion. "Just me, of course, we don't want to give them any more hostages if things go wrong. But if they do, I'm not leaving her alone in that place,"

"Fine," Her son nodded. 

"Also," She smiled now. "There's this knight, who escorted me here at Lady Catelyn's request. Ser Brien of Tarth - "

"He fought for Renly," Orryn's eyes narrowed. "He killed Renly,"

"He didn't kill Renly, and I truly don't care who he fought for," Jaime said shortly, knowing all her children had cared deeply for their uncle. "He got me through the Riverlands alive, and as far as everyone else believes, killed a pretender to your throne, which most would think warrants the king's favour. This is your way out of publicly rewarding him - if you quietly give him a royal pardon and let him escort Lady Catelyn's daughter back to her, he'll fall at your feet and profess eternal loyalty," Her son raised an eyebrow, and she smirked. "He's a sentimental soul,"

"And he spent months travelling with you?" Her son's lips twitched. "You must have torn him to shreds," Jaime laughed. 

"He's as tough as he looks, and ten times as stubborn," She said. "I did my best,"

"I'll have meet him," Orryn said. "When I'm not drowning in papers and debts and sycophants," For just a moment, he looked like the sulky little boy of eight he had been, having been made to sit in Maester Cressen's lessons instead of running amok with Helia.

"You're the king," Jaime said. "That's how it's meant to be. Of course, you can always spend your time shooting hares with a crossbow. I've been told that's how Joff liked to spend his days," Orryn actually rolled his eyes. 

"I'd have brought him crates of the things. Shooting hares was the safest place for him,"

"I won't deny that," Jaime trailed off. "Orryn, Cersen told me you don't want him as regent - "

"I didn't truly believe that man was feeble enough to send his sister to get him into my good graces," Her son's face immediately twisted in anger. Even if she had been there to beg her son to let her brother back into the small council, she would have given up then; like his father, once the boy was dead set against something, there was no chance of anyone changing his mind. Cersen had clearly made himself enough of a nuisance to harden Orryn's resolve against him. 

"I'm not here for him," She said. "I'm here for me," Her son looked confused. "I know my father has the final say in the matter of who becomes regent - don't make that face, you know I'm right - and I don't truly want the position, but if it means Tyrion - " She broke off. "I hear you've been visiting his cell a lot recently,"

"Tyrion didn't kill Joffrey," He said without question. "And I'm sure I could forgive him even if he did," Jaime had been thinking largely the same thing lately, but likely felt a lot worse about it. There was a pause. 

"I'd like to speak to the Kingsguard," He looked up, curious. 

"Why?"

"Joffrey died in front of them," She shrugged. "Whether they know if Tyrion did it or not, someone murdered my first son under their watch. I'll kill them myself if they let that to my second," She met Orryn's eyes, which softened. 

"I did miss you," He admitted, quickly losing the softness. Jaime understood Catelyn Stark a little better then, seeing how her son turned so easily from a strong king to just a boy. "Send word to Ser Aredan if you want to speak to the Kingsguard,"

"Aredan the Unaware?" She raised an eyebrow. "Why would I - " She broke off, laughing, as it hit her. "Please don't tell me he's Lord Commander after Joff got rid of Selmy?"

"Compared to the others, he was the obvious choice," Orryn gave a small grin. "Unless you'd rather me appoint Meryn Trant or Boros Blount? Or our newest member, Loras Tyrell, who's almost as green as Arthur," 

"That's fair," She admitted, then sighed. "It seems I am to be rather busy. Berate seven white cloaks into doing their job better, convince my father to name me Lady Regent after our pleasant conversation last night, save my brother from the headsman's axe, persuade you not to ride north in person..." She trailed off. "And if I actually have to attend any small council meetings, I'll scarcely have time to be angry about my children all being married off," Her lip curled in disgust. "Gods, I hate politics," Her son laughed at that. 

"Having sent far too much time blessed with Uncle Cersen's company these past few days, I'm starting to think that's a good thing,"

*

The dull coolness of the tower staircase contrasted greatly with the bright afternoon sunlight of the battlements she had just come from. Jaime had instructed her guard to wait at the bottom of the stairs, half expecting the man to protest - her father had clearly put the fear of the Stranger into the men from her guard that had made it out of the Whispering Wood without her, and now they stuck to her like limpets, even around the castle - but a quick glance at the long dagger at her belt had him nodding a 'yes milady', taking up position where instructed as she climbed the stairs. 

She stopped when she reached the door guarded by two men.

"I'm here to see my brother," She said, knowing they had been informed of her visit beforehand, though they had clearly expected her to have a guard of her own. 

"Right you are, milady," One of the men unlocked the door to one of the cells, helpfully announcing, "The Imp,"

"My thanks," Jaime said dryly. "You can shut that door after I go in,"

"What about the Imp, milday?" The other frowned. "He killed King Joffrey, I wouldn't put it past him to steal that knife of yours and make his escape,"

"I'm quite aware of the circumstances of my son's death, thank you," Jaime let an edge creep into her tone. "I also killed ten of Catelyn Stark's guards at the Whispering Wood. I'm sure I can keep my brother from taking my dagger," She smiled sharply as both men gawped at her. "I'll call for you when I leave," Without another word, she pushed open the door and brushed past him into the tower cell. The door shut behind her. 

"Jaime," Her brother stood up from the narrow bed, hesitant but not apparently surprised. He'd likely heard her conversation with the guard. "I - " He broke off, but was clearly taking in her changed appearance.

"Didn't murder my son?" She raised an eyebrow, and he nodded. "Orryn said as much. Cersen didn't, but that's only to be expected,"

"And you?" Tyrion asked bitterly. "Do you believe I killed him, like everyone else seems to?"

"I wasn't there," Jaime sat down on the bed. "If it's any consolation, none of my other children care if you did it or not. They like you more than they ever liked him," 

"I can't blame them for that," He snorted darkly, then shot her an apologetic look. "Sorry. Believe me, Jaime, it wasn't me that killed him. He was your son. Vile though he was," There was a pause. 

"He was more Cersen's son than he ever was mine," She said quietly, and her brother shot her a look. 

"There's much I can say on the subject of bad decisions - " 

"If you start talking about why one brother should receive special treatment and not the other, I'm leaving you to your ugly fate," Jaime's tone was wry, and got a short laugh out of Tyrion, along with a disgusted face she hadn't seen him pull since he was ten years old. 

"I was going to say, 'but I'm hardly in a place to judge'," She laughed herself at that as he came to sit beside her, and they fell into an easy silence. 

"Jaime, you can't trust him," Her brother spoke in a hurried, low voice, seeming to anticipate her disliking what he had to say. "Cersen, I mean. Before Father arrived, when I was still Hand, I was doing some investigations..."

"Investigations? Into what?" She was unsure why this was relevant, but dropped her own voice regardless. Had anyone but Tyrion started a conversation this way, she would have feared they would ask of her affair with Cersen, but of course, her little brother already knew.

"Into your husband's death," She hadn't been expecting that. "I spoke to Pycelle. Well," He gave a rather wicked smile. "I got him to speak, anyway. Turns out our old maester had kept rather quiet on some of his discoveries after examining Stannis' body. There were traces of Basilisk venom in his blood,"

"Poison?" Jaime asked, genuinely shocked. "But he didn't - I thought I - wasn't it that blow to the head that killed him?" _The blow I dealt him_. "All the other men who became mad with that sickness were fine a few days later,"

"Basilisk venom _causes_ its victims to go mad," Tyrion said grimly, though his eyes were shining and he was clearly excited to tell her this news. "To become violent and easily angered," She remembered the feel of Stannis' large hands throttling her, backhanding her across the room after barely any provocation, when she'd said so much worse to him before. "And a large enough dose can kill,"

"Pycelle said the madness was because of the bad stew," She shook her head. "And we all believed that?" Jaime was suddenly angry. She hadn't loved her husband, but had enjoyed his company at times, despite, well, everything. He hadn't deserved the death he had got. "I suppose it wasn't Pycelle to actually poison him, he just covered it up," 

"And who do you think it was to do the deed?" Her brother asked with a meaningful look. 

"I know what you want me to say," Jaime said quietly. "I know that Pycelle is a Lannister lackey first and foremost,"

"You knew?" Tyrion didn't seem to be judging, simply curious. "Knew Cersen..."

"No, I didn't," She laughed weakly. "I suspected, perhaps, when he arrived here sick. Given the rather convenient deaths of Lyonel and Maris. But then he died - it was such a strange thing to die of - and when the other men fell sick, I - I didn't know he could put that much care into his plans. I should've. There is nothing Cersen wouldn't have done to get Joffrey on the throne," She abruptly turned to her brother with a sharp look. "You haven't told Orryn this, have you? Father would not stand for any moves against his golden heir,"

"Of course I haven't told Orryn," Tyrion scoffed. "He'd want Cersen's head if he knew, and we all know how Father would take that. No, our dear brother's fall from grace is entirely down to his charming personality, and the mess he made of his regency. Speaking of," He gave her a meaningful look. "Now you're back, you should have his position, as the king's mother," 

In truth, she had been wondering why Lord Tywin hadn't put his foot down and insisted to Orryn that his uncle would remain regent. Though if these tales of Cersen and Joffrey's mess of a reign were true, perhaps their father did not put so much faith in his eldest son anymore? _Interesting_. Equally, it could simply be because Cersen had ceased obeying his every order to the letter, and Lord Tywin wanted someone easier to control. 

"That only occurred to me this morning," She grimaced. "After I yelled at Father that I was not going to marry whichever man he sold me to, and wasn't his to control anymore," Tyrion winced. "I didn't even care at first - it's not like I revel in endless council meetings - until it occurred to me that it might be the only way to get you free,"

"Talk to him, today," Her brother urged. "Tell him what he wants to hear,"

"That I'll be a good little puppet and sign whatever he tells me?" She grinned slightly, even though the thought was distasteful. "Fine by me. That means I don't have to read anything,"

"Whatever you do, don't grovel," Tyrion said, smirking. 

"Lannisters do not bow and scrape in the dirt like common smallfolk," Jaime imitated Lord Tywin's manner, pulling a face and making her brother laugh. Overcome with a sudden wave of affection for him, she put an arm around Tyrion's shoulder and pulled him close to her side. "I missed you, you know,"

"I missed you," Her brother replied honestly, hugging her back. There was a pause, then he looked closely up at her. "Jaime, are you alright?" The question took her aback slightly. "Orryn said that a rogue band of sellswords had captured you," He elaborated. "That doesn't tend to be the most comfortable travelling arrangements for pretty highborn women. Or any women at all," She could hear the concern in his voice; it made her feel sad, warm and angry all at once. 

"What are you talking about?" She forced a smile on her face. "The food was truly excellent - stale bread and horse piss - and you know how I've always loved sleeping tied to a tree in the dirt," Much like how she did not wish to damage her children's perception of their mother any more than it had been already, neither did she have any desire to let Tyrion hear how his big sister had been treated, how helpless she had been. 

"I felt the bandages," Her brother said flatly, clearly not convinced. "All around your back. Have you been wounded?"

"A small scratch that got infected," The lie that had rolled off her tongue in front of her children seemed rather clunky when faced with Tyrion's shrewd stare. 

"Please tell me you've had a maester look at it, or at least told someone?"

"Cersen knows," She replied automatically, ignoring the look on his face. "And Father. I had a maester tend it at Harrenhal; he travelled back here with us," Jaime gritted her teeth slightly. There was a silence. "Oh, fuck it. I'm too tired to lie to you as well. No, I'm not bloody alright," She ignored how Tyrion's eyes widened. "They stripped me half naked the first night and cut off my breast with a Dothraki sword,"

"Jaime..." For once, her little brother was lost for words. 

"I shouldn't have said that," She turned her head away, hoping that the guards outside hadn't heard her outburst. "I only told Father so he could ensure that... justice was done. And Cersen - " She stopped talking, not wanting to get into that with Tyrion. "The children don't know. And won't, ever," He nodded.

"That wasn't all they did, was it?" Her brother asked quietly, no glint in his eye aside from anger. 

"Don't, Tyrion," Her warning tone was rather more pleading than she would've liked, but thankfully he didn't question her any further. 

"So," His bright tone was clearly forced, but she smiled faintly in appreciation. "Tell me about the dashing young knight that brought you back to us,"

*

"So? Did you talk some sense into the boy?" 

Jaime shut the door, raising her eyes to her brother, stood in the middle of her chambers. It was late afternoon now, having spent hours talking easily with Tyrion, and she still had to talk to her father. Having had no time to eat lunch, she would have expected her stomach to be growling, if she hadn't been living on next to nothing for the past months. 

"Hello to you too, Cersen," She moved forward, stopping in front of him. She hadn't forgotten what Tyrion had said about the basilisk venom, nor that the last time she had seen him he was ordering her out of the sept after fucking her next to her dead son, but was able to put both to the back of her mind for now. She'd always been good at that when it came to Cersen. _Though I used to be better_. 

"Stop playing around, Jaime," He snapped, irritation clear in his expression. "I know you went to see him this morning,"

" _Orryn_ is my son, who I haven't seen in a year," She replied, already rather weary and not bothering to hide it; she rarely hid anything from her twin. "Besides, you know as well as I do that the choice of regent is not entirely up to the king. Why badger me, when you can get better results from father?"

"Father is humouring the boy," Her brother scowled. "Some tripe about a ruler learning to make his own decisions and live with the consequences," Jaime bit back a smirk; if her father didn't truly support Orryn's decision, then Cersen would still be in power. "It's a foolish idea. The king must learn to listen to those older and more experienced than himself; he is much too arrogant already," She closed her eyes briefly, not even entertaining the sheer hypocrisy of that statement (regarding himself) and blind ignorance (regarding Joffrey), before replying. 

"Did you say that to Father's face?" 

"Of course I didn't," He said impatiently, missing her sarcasm. "Well? Did you tell your son to give me back what is mine?"

"The position is only yours if you hold it, which you do not," She shook her head, wryly amused, as she sat down on the end of her bed. "No, I did not go and grovel to my fourteen-year-old son to give you back the regency. Feel free to do so yourself,"

"What is _wrong_ with you?" Cersen snapped, moving to loom over her where she sat, aiming to intimidate. But though Jaime had felt many things towards her brother, fear had never been one of them. "What use are you, Jaime, if you won't even try to control your own children?" She did not miss the disdainful glance he gave the breast he knew was missing, and misliked what it implied.

"Like you controlled Joffrey?" She shot back. "Cutting off Ned Stark's head was your idea, was it? And what about beating Sansa Stark in front of the court?" Tyrion had told her all about how the girl had been treated by her son and her brother. "Was that some ingenious ploy to win support to our house?"

"How can a mother speak so callously about her dead son?" Anger flashed in Cersen's eyes. "Joffrey was a good king, strong, brave and true - "

"The boy was brave, I'll give him that," Jaime snorted. "If bravery is throwing yourself into everything with full confidence, without even knowing that such things as consequences exist. You're blind Cersen, to yourself and to him. I loved Joffrey because he was my son, but knew him well enough to hate him too. I love you, but I've known your faults for a long time. You let Joffrey make a mess of his reign, and no doubt contributed yourself as well. No, I will not go grovelling to Father, or to Orryn, to make you regent again," 

For a moment, her brother seemed stunned at the way she'd spoken to him. Then he opened his mouth. 

"Strong words, for an ageing, mutilated woman," Cersen's words were spiteful, full of anger, each one designed to hurt. "It never used to matter that your head was full of empty space, but now your beauty is fading, and you're only half a woman, what are you good for now?" Jaime wanted to cry, but was too angry even for that. Any doubts she had about what she was going to say to her father, any lingering guilt for her brother, went up in smoke in that moment. 

"Strong words," She repeated back to him mockingly. "From the man who wouldn't dare say such things to his sister if she had a sword in her hand," With that, Jaime turned on her heel and strode from the room, heading for the Tower of the Hand and ignoring whatever he shouted after her.

*

"You?" Lord Tywin raised an eyebrow. "You want to be regent? You, who has never shown interest of any kind at all in ruling and politics, who has little to no experience in such things, and loathes them besides?" 

She hadn't beaten around the bush. Once they were past the stiff greetings, Jaime had just said what she came to say, and waited for her expressionless father to speak. 

"Me," She pressed forward. "Who will do everything you ask of me, not interfere in your decisions in any way and am already unquestionably loyal to our house and the king. I promise you that," She was getting rather sick of that penetrating stare. 

"And what brought on this sudden change of heart?" Her father asked. "I presume you want me to call off marriage negotiations - for your hand, or your daughters perhaps?" His tone heavily implied that this was not going to happen. 

"I want Tyrion declared innocent," Was her reply. 

"Of course," Jaime could glean nothing from his neutral reply. 

"I spoke to him today, and you know Orryn has been down there several times this week. He didn't kill Joffrey - you know he'd have not made such a botch of it if he had," She said. "I'll be your puppet in court, do whatever you tell me to do without speaking a word against you, if you let him go, an innocent man,"

"Very well," The easy reply left her shocked, but she quickly schooled her face back to normal. "From now on, you are Lady Regent of the Seven Kingdoms, and Tyrion will be released, innocent. But the king's assassination cannot go unpunished, and I expect a murderer to be found before the dwarf leaves the cells," _A murderer, not the murderer_. Find a decent scapegoat. She could do that. Jaime nodded. "I also expect no resistance on the topic of your children's betrothals. You are not entirely stupid, I'm sure you appreciate the need for allegiances," 

She nodded again, gritting her teeth, but couldn't help but add, "And what of my own marriage?" 

"Dorne is not a great enough threat to give away one of your daughters, to a landless prince," He said flatly. "Yet we cannot insult them, and they _are_ enough of a threat to want an alliance with. Oberyn Martell has already taken up the position of Master of Laws here in the city. You and he will wed and remain in King's Landing, not as a matter of urgency, but at some time in the near future," 

Jaime opened her mouth to angrily protest, having only sworn quite vehemently the other night that she would never marry again, but a raise of his eyebrow had her furiously biting her tongue. She knew what was at stake, and wouldn't put it past him condemning Tyrion to the Wall just to show her the price of her defiance.

"Fine," She ground out. "Just don't expect me to be popping out any more grandchildren for you to marry off. The last birth near killed me, and the rate Prince Oberyn sires bastards, we likely have at least twenty children between us already,"

"Good," His reply made her blink in surprise. "I did not make you Regent to sit around coddling children. I expect you at every small council meeting, every court function,"

"Yes, Father," Her reply was wry and weary. Jaime imagined she'd be saying that a lot in the coming months. 

"Needless to say, Cersen will not be pleased by your appointment," He continued. "Your brother can be... foolish. It may be enough to damage ties between him and the king for a while. Unfortunate, given he is to be the next Lord of Casterly Rock," That was true. And might even undermine the ties between the West and the Crown that Lord Tywin had dedicated his entire life to forming. 

"Then why not give him what he wants?" She had to ask out of curiosity, for he clearly was displeased by this. 

"Cersen would cause infinitely more damage as Lord Regent than he would as a bitter and slighted Lord Lannister," Her father said. "Besides, Tychus is his heir, and the boy is no fool," Her father had more respect for that boy than he had for any of his own children. Unspoken was Tychus' unfortunate resemblance to a young Tywin, the precocious heir dealing with an inept father. "If the worst should occur, a betrothal can always be made between Tychus and one of your other daughters,"

"Not Myrcella," She said without thinking. 

"And why is that?"

"She looks too much like me," Was the first thing she could think of. "And he looks too much like Cersen," He didn't, he looked more like their father with red hair. "It would hardly help all those rumours,"

"This is only idle speculation," Her father narrowed his eyes at her. "A rather desperate solution to a problem I hope never to occur. I will not let Cersen damage relations to the crown so much that a betrothal is necessary," Jaime hoped he was right.

There was a silence. 

"I should go," She said. "I promised the children I'd eat with them tonight," _And tell them they're soon to have a new father_. Her father nodded in clear dismissal, looking back at his papers before she'd even gotten to her feet to leave. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of conversations in this chapter and not much action I'm afraid. Hope you enjoyed and that it wasn't too wordy, I promise it picks up again in future chapters. As always, comments and criticisms are very welcome. Thanks for reading!  
> Why Jaime believes so easily that Tyrion didn't kill Joffrey: for one, she trusts Cersen less blindly than male Jaime trusted Cersei at this point, and takes his claims with a grain of salt. Second, Lady Jaime had nothing to do with the Tysha fiasco, being in the Stormlands at the time, therefore she knows Tyrion has no reason to hate her. Third, all her children are on Tyrion's side, including the king. In the books, Jaime always doubted that Tyrion did it - partly why he helped him escape - and it was only until Tyrion yelled that he killed Joffrey in Jaime's face out of spite that Jaime was convinced. 
> 
> Why Jaime seems so politically savvy: male Jaime actually gave Cersei very sound advice after their father's death. But she didn't like what he had to say, and he wouldn't be her Hand, so she sent him away to subdue the Riverlands, which he does, largely peacefully aside from a few Tywin-esque threats, relying on his reputation as the dishonourable Kingslayer. Jaime is good at politics, he just hates it, and refuses to play the game. Here, Lady Jaime has a reason to get involved, and is in a stronger position (basically Cersei's before she messed it all up).


	12. The Kingslayer's Daughter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDITED 16/12/20: normally I leave notes for the end, but some parts of the chapter will not make sense unless you read the previous chapter again. Apologies for the inconvenience. 

Her first council meeting hadn't been so bad in truth, if only because it was worth seeing the faces of the council members and advisors as Orryn announced her new position. _Jaime Baratheon, Lady Regent of the Seven Kingdoms_. 

She knew most would question her father's sanity in appointing the infamous Kingslayer to such high office - given she had never been queen herself, she was not entitled to the position despite being Orryn's mother - if they hadn't known she was to be a puppet in all but name.

Her husband-to-be, the Master of Laws, had appeared outwardly amused but she saw the calculating look in his eyes, weighing up this new information. Perhaps if she was the Regent, it wasn't such an insult to Dorne giving them the hand of an ageing widow over her maiden daughter's. 

"Lady Jaime," She stopped at the familiar accented voice calling her. That meeting had been the first time they had come across each other since she arrived back in the city, the first time she had seen him in years.

"Prince Oberyn," Jaime smiled her dazzling smile. "As much as I would love to exchange sweet nothings with my betrothed, I have things to do," 

She was on her way to meet with the Kingsguard, both to drag them over the coals for letting her son die with all seven of them present and also to give her any ideas of where to look for a scapegoat for Joffrey's death. Not to mention that Helia had let slip to her earlier that Ser Boros Blount had all but abandoned Arthur on a hunting trip in the Kingswood when they were accosted by a group of bandits. It was only her son's skill with a sword, and Ser Aredan's timely arrival, that stopped him never being heard from again. Yes, Jaime was going to have a very interesting conversation with the Sworn Brothers indeed.

"Betrothed," He scoffed slightly, showing his distaste. She didn't care, she felt much the same. "Our mothers would be pleased, at least," Jaime smiled wryly at that. She had first met the Dornish prince shortly after the death of Lady Joanna and she had liked him then, which hadn't changed when she was Elia's friend and Queen Rhaella's lady-in-waiting in King's Landing. That had been before his sister's brutal murder at the hands of her father's men, however, so who knew where they stood now.

"Our mothers are dead," She said. "Your sister too," His eyes flashed, his smile turning slightly feral. "I'm not going to have to concern myself with waking up to a knife in my chest, am I?"

"And why would I do that?" His cold smile didn't fill her with confidence. "It was my belief that you were one of Elia's closest friends. And that you were rather... occupied whilst she and her children were being murdered. No, my quarrel is with your father, and the monsters that did such a deed,"

"I can give you Clegane and Lorch," She said after a moment, her tone nonchalant though she did mean it. "I know that's not what you want, but surely that's better than nothing,"

"I have heard that the key to a happy marriage is compromise," _Like you'd do anything of the sort_. Instead of voicing that, Jaime just smiled.

"Quite right," She grinned then. "I suppose you're as happy about this match as I am. I'll stay out of your, ah, business, if you stay out of mine?" The Dornish prince laughed aloud, clearly catching her meaning.

"That suits me well, Kingslayer," 

It wasn't going to be a marriage either of them wanted, but it was necessary, she supposed. Might as well make it as bearable as possible. Not that she was even fucking anyone else at the moment, given how Cersen was. Not to mention her twin was likely to spontaneously combust at the news of her appointment as Regent. Jaime was rather glad her father was not going to announce her betrothal to Oberyn until things had settled down somewhat, likely after Orryn's wedding to Margaery. That made things easier. 

*

Later, Jaime sat at the desk in her solar, Aredan Sarsfield stood at her side. Six chairs were arranged in front of them, as they awaited each member of the Kingsguard. Osmund Kettleblack was the first knight to arrive, giving Jaime a rather salacious grin, as if they had known each other for years. _As if we'd been fucking for years_.

"Lord Commander, Lady Jaime," He nodded, glancing her up and down. "Had you looked like this t'other night, I'd have known you at once," She was all dressed up for her first council meeting, in blood red, and hadn't felt the need to change for this. Pia had picked out several of her showier pieces of jewellery, and she could feel the weight of the golden lion on the necklace around her neck, her ears heavy with rubies. On her middle finger was a gold ring set with intricately carved polished jet, which Stannis had once gifted her. 

"Would you indeed?" Jaime raised an eyebrow. When she looked in a glass, she no longer saw the woman who had crossed the Riverlands with Brien, but she did not see herself either, despite all the finery. Her face was thin and hollow, and she had lines under her eyes that she could swear were not there before. _I look like some old woman_.

One by one, the Kingsguard entered, muttering polite greetings, each taking a seat. The arrangement amused Jaime somewhat, reminding her somewhat of misbehaving young boys come for a scolding. _Isn't that what they are?_ Except instead of breaking a window or terrifying an old woman, these seven had let a king die. 

Once all of them were seated, she spoke.

"The king is dead," She began. "My son, a boy of fifteen, murdered at his own wedding feast in his own hall. All seven of you were present. All seven of you were _protecting_ him. And yet he's dead nonetheless," She waited to see what they would say to that, but there was dead silence. _The Tyrell boy is angry, Swann and Oakheart are ashamed and Ser Aredan, brave Lord Commander, is nervous_. From the other three Jaime sensed only indifference. "I only hope that one of you can tell me who was it that poisoned my son?" 

Some clue as to where to look for a scapegoat would be appreciated, but Ser Balon merely shifted uncomfortably in his seat, Ser Boros made a fist and Ser Osmund gave a lazy shrug. Ser Aredan seemed to realise it was down to him to answer.

"It's hard to say, my lady, I -"

"The Imp filled Joffrey's cup with wine," Meryn Trant cut in with a scoff. "That must have been when he slipped the poison in," _Must have_. Well that settled the matter, then.

"You are certain it was the _wine_ that was poisoned?"

"What else?" Boros Blount said. "The Imp emptied the dregs on the floor. Why, but to spill the wine that might have proved him guilty?" More speculation. _They're blaming Tyrion because he's the convenient option_. Better that than telling the grieving mother - the new Lady Regent no less - that between them they did not know who killed her son.

"The Imp was not alone on the dais," Balon Swann frowned. _Finally, something of interest_. "Far from it. That late in the feast, we had people standing and moving about, changing places, slipping off to the privy, servants were coming and going... the king and queen had just opened the wedding pie, every eye was on them. No one was watching the wine cup," So they truly had no idea, then.

"Who else was on the dais?" She asked.

"The king's family, the bride's family, Grand Maester Pycelle, the High Septon..." Ser Aredan answered.

"Sansa Stark was the poisoner," Loras Tyrell said, unamused. "You all forget, my sister was drinking from that chalice as well. Sansa Stark was the only person in the hall who had reason to want Margaery dead, as well as the king,"

"Sansa Stark is no more than a scared little girl alone in court," Ser Aredan protested. From what Jaime had heard, most of the abuse of the girl had occurred out of the Lord Commander's sight; Joffrey had known enough not to ask him to join in, at least. "You really believe her capable of killing a king?" There was an uncomfortable silence, where all eyes couldn't help but flicker to Jaime. She arched an eyebrow.

"From anyone else, I'd have thought that was a jape, ser," Her lip curled. Sarsfield clearly regretted the words the moment they left his mouth and gave her a small grimace of apology.

"Why did she try to run afterward, unless she was guilty?" Ser Loras cut in. The boy made sense, and Jaime would have to speak to Lady Sansa at some point, but she could hardly pin the murder on the girl who Lord Tywin planned to make Arthur's bride. She was key to securing peace with the North, after all.

"Whoever did it," She said. "Joffrey is dead, and the Iron Throne belongs to Orryn now. I mean for him to sit on it until his hair turns white and his teeth fall out. And not from poison," Jaime turned to Sarsfield with a meaningful look, hoping he did not go back on what they had discussed earlier. He smiled faintly, clearing his throat.

"Ser Boros, I have deemed it fitting for your new duties to include tasting everything his Grace eats or drinks," It had not taken much to convince the Lord Commander that that was a good idea. Jaime had asked nicely, even throwing in a few sweet smiles despite the fact she knew he'd see right through them, and clearly the man was still feeling guilty about letting her son die on his watch - another king for Ser Aredan the Unaware - for he readily agreed. _Or perhaps he feels Ser Boros is getting what he deserves_. 

Kettleblack laughed aloud and Tyrell smiled, but Ser Boros turned a deep beet red.

"I am no food taster! I am a knight of the Kingsguard!"

"Sad to say, you are," Jaime smiled sharply. "My sons have told me how readily you turned craven and abandoned Arthur to bandits in the Kingswood. I believe all they had to do was ask nicely," 

With his brave white shadow fled, Arthur had actually managed to hold the men off until a franticly searching Ser Aredan had pulled him out. Good for the Lord Commander; if he'd let one of the sons she liked more than Joffrey die on his watch, Jaime wasn't sure what she'd have done to him. 

"You will find carrots and pease less threatening, I hope," She continued. "When your Sworn Brothers are training in the yard with sword and shield, you may train with spoon and trencher. You look like a man who likes his food,"

"You speak to me thus? _You?"_

"My son is the king's brother, not to mention a child, and is therefore under your protection. You should have died before you left his side,"

"As you died standing by Aerys' side, my lady?" Ser Boros lurched to his feet, hand on the hilt of his sword. "I won't... I won't suffer this. You should be the food taster, it seems to me. What else is a wanton woman good for? Certainly not guarding the king," 

Evidently no one had told the man that she was now regent. By law at least, if not in reality, she as good as had the king's power. _He'll find out soon enough, and I was never one to hide behind a title._

"I agree," Jaime just smiled, remaining seated. "I am as unfit to guard the king as you are. So draw that sword you're clearly well-practiced at fondling, and we shall see how you fare against a _wanton woman,_ " She waved down Ser Aredan, who had opened his mouth. "At the end you will be dead, and the Kingsguard will be improved," She calmly stood. 

"Or, if you prefer," Sarsfield suggested mildly. "You may return to your duties," He wasn't too bad as back up, that one.

Most men would have laughed in her face, or been offended at the audacity of a woman challenging them to a duel. Ser Boros was no exception, however he had also seen her train. 

"Bah!" The brave knight of the Kingsguard spat a glob of phlegm at Jaime's feet, glowered at the Lord Commander and walked out, his sword still in its sheath without waiting for dismissal.

 _The man is craven, and a good thing_. Ser Boros might have actually caught her out if she stretched her wound overly much in the wrong way. _But he does not know that, and neither must the rest_. Jaime seated herself again and turned to Kettleblack.

"Ser Osmund. I do not know you. I find that curious. I've attended tourneys, mêlées, and battles throughout the Seven Kingdoms, and believe me when I say that I pay attention. So how is it that I have never heard of you?"

"That I couldn't say, my lady," He had a wide knowing smile on his face, as if he and Jaime were old lovers playing some jolly little game. He definitely found her amusing. He also had not seen her with a sword in her hand. "I'm a soldier, though, not no tourney knight,"

"Where had you served, before my brother found you?"

"Here and there, my lady,"

"I have never been to Here. Nor There. I will ask once more. _Where have you served?_ "

"In the Stepstones. Some in the Disputed Lands. There's always fighting there. I rode with the Gallant Men. We fought for Lys, and some for Tyrosh," _You fought for anyone who would pay you_. 

"Who knighted you? How?"

"Ser Robert... Stone. On a battlefield. He's dead now, my lady,"

"To be sure," Ser Robert Stone might have been some bastard knight selling his sword in the Disputed Lands, or he might simply be a name Kettleblack cobbled together from a dead king and a castle wall. _What was Cersen thinking when he gave this one a white cloak?_ Jaime glanced at Ser Aredan with a slightly incredulous look. He just shook his head slightly. She supposed, being a sellsword, that at least Kettleblack would know how to use a sword and shield, which put him one up on Boros Blount.

There was a pause.

"You may go, Ser Osmund," Ser Aredan said after a glance her way. Kettleblack's grin returned, and he left swaggering, with a lingering look at Jaime, which she ignored.

"Ser Meryn," She smiled at the sour knight. "I have heard it said that Joffrey made use of you to chastise Sansa Stark. Tell me, where in your vows do you swear to beat women and children?"

"I did as His Grace commanded me. We are sworn to obey,"

"Henceforth you will temper that obedience. Orryn will be a different kind of king than Joffrey I'm sure," _Or I'll give him the thrashing of his life, no matter that he's nearly a man_. "Just use that ugly thing you keep inside your helm. If you're asked to fetch a servant, obey. If you're asked to beat a servant bloody, come to me or the Lord Commander," She glanced to Arys Oakheart. "You too, ser,"

"Me?" The pretty man's eyes widened, horrified. "But I barely - " 

"But you did," Jaime smiled. "Perhaps you didn't enjoy it as much as dear Ser Meryn, but don't lie to yourself, at least. You can say you tried to hit her as lightly as possible, that you were only following orders, but you did it nonetheless," He opened his mouth to protest, but she looked to Sarsfield, who cut him off.

"Dismissed, both of you" As Trant and Oakheart left, Ser Arys still shaking his head indignantly, she turned to Balon Swann.

_* questioning Balon Swann about his brother Ser Donnel's uncertain loyalties - cut for length and similarity to the original *_

"It's not Ser Donnel the Constant who concerns me. It's you," Jaime leaned forward. "What will you do if brave Ser Donnel gives his sword to yet another usurper, and one day comes storming into the throne room? And there you stand all in white, between your king and your blood. What will you do?"

"I... my lady, that will never happen,"

"It happened to me, and I'm not even a knight," Jaime said. "Of course, you might try to become another Ser Aredan the Unaware, but that comes with an entirely different stain on your white cloak," She smiled at the Lord Commander beside her, who actually looked close to rolling his eyes. Swann wiped his brow with the sleeve of his white tunic. "You have no answer?"

"My lady," Ser Balon drew himself up. "On my sword, on my honour, on my father's name, I swear... I shall not do as you did. Or... Ser Aredan," He glanced rather nervously at the Lord Commander, who no longer seemed to take it personally, after near sixteen years.

"Good," Jaime laughed.

"Return to your duties," Ser Aredan dismissed him, and then she was alone with the Lord Commander and the Knight of Flowers.

Lithe and fit, Loras Tyrell wore a snowy linen tunic and white wool breeches, with a gold belt around his waist and a gold rose clasping his silk cloak, brown eyes bright with insolence. _He thinks this is a tourney, and his tilt has just been called_.

"Seventeen and a knight of the Kingsguard," Jaime said. "You must be proud. Prince Aemon the Dragonknight was seventeen too when he was named. Did you know that?"

"Yes, my lady,"

"And did you know that I killed a king when I was seventeen?"

"That as well, my lady," He smiled. Jaime hated that smile.

"I'm better than you, Ser Loras. I doubt you believe that, given I lack a certain part between my legs, but I've seen you fight and it's the truth,"

"And yet I am called ser, where you never will be," The boy said. "My lady," She had to laugh. _Tyrion would mock me unmercifully if he could hear me now, comparing the cock I don't have with this green boy_.

"Lady I might be, but perhaps that comes with a tad more wisdom than a brash, arrogant boy such as yourself. You should learn from me,"

"As you learned from Arthur Dayne, Aerys Targaryen and Robert Baratheon?" The innuendo in his tone was clear. That arrow hit too close to the mark. Ser Aredan made to speak, but Jaime spoke first.

"Ser Arthur Dayne was a good man, who could have slain each one of you with his left hand while he was taking with a piss with the right. _He_ taught me to fight, no more, no less. Robert Baratheon was a fat, whoring drunkard who could barely haul himself out of bed in the mornings by the end, whilst Aerys Targaryen was a monster. Say what you like about me, but make sure to do those men justice at least,"

"Every one of those men is dead," Came the reply. _He's me_ , Jaime realised suddenly. _All cocksure arrogance and foolish idealism_. 

* _more talk with Loras, Jaime asks about Renly's burial_ _*_

"I will defend King Orryn with all my strength, I swear it. I will give my life for his if need be. But I will never betray Renly, by word or deed. He was the king that should have been. He was the best of them,"

 _The best dressed perhaps_ , Jaime thought, but for once she did not say it. The arrogance had gone out of Ser Loras the moment he began to speak of Renly. _He is proud and reckless and full of piss, but he is not false. Not yet_.

"As you say. One more thing, and you may return to your duties,"

"Yes, my lady?"

"I still have Ser Brien of Tarth in a tower cell,"

"A black cell would be better," The boy's mouth hardened. "He deserves death. I told Renly that he had no place in the Rainbow Guard. He won the mêlée with a trick,"

"I seem to recall another knight who was fond of tricks. He once rode a mare in heat against a foe mounted on a bad-tempered stallion. What sort of trickery did Brien use?"

"He leapt..." Ser Loras flushed. "It makes no matter. He won, I grant him that. His Grace put a rainbow cloak around his shoulders. And Ser Brien killed him. Or let him die,"

"A large difference there," _The difference between my crime and the shame of Aredan Sarsfield_.

"He had sworn to protect him. How could anyone else have hurt him, with him inside his tent and the others just outside? Unless they were part of it,"

"There were seven of you at the wedding feast," Jaime pointed out. "How could Joffrey die, unless you were part of it?" Ser Loras drew himself up stiffly.

"There was nothing we could have done."

"Ser Brien says the same. He grieves for Renly as you do. I promise you, I never grieve for Aerys, and no matter what Ser Aredan used to bleat in front of Selmy, I doubt he does either. Brien's ugly, and pighead stubborn. But he lacks the wits to be a liar, and he is loyal past the point of sense. He swore an oath to bring me to King's Landing, and here I sit. The troubles that befell us... well, they was my doing as much as his. Considering all he did to protect me, I have no doubt that he would have fought for Renly, had there been a foe to fight. But a shadow?" Jaime shook her head. "Draw your sword, Ser Loras. Show me how _you'd_ fight a shadow,"

"He fled," Ser Loras did not move. "Why would he, if it was not his work?" He stared at the table. "Renly gave me the van. Otherwise it would have been me helping him don his armour. We had... we had prayed together that night," _Is that what you're calling it now?_ "I left him with Ser Brien. Ser Emmon was on guard outside, he swore Brien had... although..."

"Yes?" Jaime prompted, sensing a doubt.

"The gorget was cut through. One clean stroke, through a steel gorget. Renly's armour was the finest steel. I tried myself, and it was not possible. He's freakish strong, but even the Mountain would have needed a heavy axe. And why armour him and then cut his throat?" He gave Jaime a confused look. "If not him, though... how could it be a _shadow_?"

"Ask him," Jaime came to a decision. "Go to his cell, hear him out. If you are still convinced that he murdered Lord Renly, I will see that he answers for it. All I ask is that you judge him fairly, on your honour as a knight,"

"I shall," Ser Loras stood. "On my honour,"

"We are done, then?" She turned, and Ser Aredan nodded. 

The young man left, leaving Jaime wondering. The Knight of Flowers had been so mad with grief for Renly that he had cut down two of his own Sworn Brothers, but it had never occurred to Jaime to do the same with the seven who had failed Joffrey. _He was my son, my first son... what am I, if I do not lift a hand to avenge mine own blood?_ She ought to kill Ser Boros at least, just to be rid of him.

"I need a spar," She turned to the Lord Commander. "I've had enough of politics and conversation. I've almost forgotten what it's like knocking you into the dirt,"

*

 _Slash. Parry. Block. Slash. Turn. And_. _.._

"Dead," Jaime called in triumph, trying to hide how out of breath she was as she handed Ser Aredan back his own sword from where she'd knocked it onto the ground. He seemed to have been practicing a lot recently, where she'd been rotting in a dungeon.

"That one was close, though," The man smiled slightly. "I almost had you several minutes ago," He was right, but Jaime just grinned lazily.

She felt better now after a satisfying sparring session than she had done since arriving at the keep. It was some small relief in all the madness, made even sweeter by the tedious morning she had had, and the fact that her wound was clearly healing nicely, as it barely troubled her at all. 

"As if," She swept loose curls of hair away from her face, irritated that it wasn't long enough to tie back yet. Not for the first time, she considered shaving it all off and having done with it. The thought of Cersen's reaction amused her. "I think becoming Lord Commander of the Kingsguard has given you a rather inflated opinion of yourself, Sarsfield,"

"If it has, my lady, I'm sure you'll correct that in a matter of hours with words alone," His tone was dry, and she laughed.

"Best believe it. Now come on, again," Jaime was itching for another round. Her ego wanted the satisfaction of an easy win to convince herself that her skills were as sharp as they always had been, whilst another, larger part of her wanted a challenge. She thought of Brien then. _He's easily as good as Sarsfield, if not better_.

"Very well," Ser Aredan smiled. "Though if I may; you're looking ever so slightly unbalanced. That's how I beat you last round, and you barely scraped a win out of this latest one," Her face must have faltered, as she saw a flicker of confusion - and even worse, concern - in his expression.

"Thank you for the advice, ser," Her tone was sarcastic, her face now an arrogant mask. _Of course he noticed_. "My skills have gone to rot in Edmure Tully's dungeon. And now I'm expected to give him my daughter," Jaime shook her head, smirking abruptly. "I suppose I'll just have to take my anger at things out on you," She moved forward, intending to strike, but paused when she saw Sarsfield's eyes were fixed on a point over her shoulder.

"Don't put that sword down," Was all he said as she turned around, to see Cersen striding across the empty courtyard towards them, his face saying everything.

Jaime cursed under her breath. She'd managed to avoid her brother all day, doubting he had heard the news of her appointment before it was announced at the council meeting he no longer had a place at, but was surprised he hadn't come rampaging to find her in her solar. Either way, he clearly knew now, judging from the expression of pure rage on his face.

"How _dare_ you?" Jaime doubted Cersen even recognised the presence of the Lord Commander, his tone was shaking so much, fists clenched at his side. "You traitorous little _bitch_ , scurrying about behind my back. I bet you think yourself so very clever, don't you, Jaime, but you are what you've always been, just a stupid, shallow little - "

He moved as though to grab her then, and without thinking, her blunted practice sword came up to stop him. It was an instinctive reaction to an approaching threat, and her blood was up already, so it was quick, perfectly aimed, not at all a hard blow but undoubtedly firm. Jaime almost enjoyed the look of shock on his face that she'd raised a hand to him, even in such a way as this, when normally she denied him nothing.

"I didn't do it to spite you, I did it for Tyrion," She spoke before he could. "Seeing as no one else would lift a finger to stop Father having him dragged off to the Wall. Besides, wouldn't you rather the regency was given to me, Cersen? To family, rather than just some lord?" She knew before she even said the words that he wouldn't. Of course he wouldn't.

"So that's why you took what's mine," Her brother's lip curled nastily, only hearing the mention of Tyrion and nothing else. "The Imp tricked you into believing he's innocent of murdering your son. I suppose it didn't even take much. You always were empty-headed and gullible,"

Jaime laughed, then.

"I loved you, brother, and I always will," She turned away to pull her skirts back on over her training breeches, shaking her head. "But you're ruining what was a rather enjoyable spar. Feel free to remain here in this dingy courtyard with Ser Aredan, but I'm afraid I'm going inside,"

She was just leaning her practice sword against the wall when a rough hand grabbed her shoulder. In an instant the blade was back in her grip, and Jaime was twisting around, throwing Cersen's hand off of her with a sharp rap on the knuckles and pointing the blunted blade at his throat.

The twins stared at each other for a moment, both glaring. They'd fought before, of course, largely with words. Cersen had never faced her with a sword in his hand, knowing full well he'd end up humiliated even if he refused to admit it to himself.

"You know," Her brother practically snarled. "Mother would be ashamed to see you parading around in men's clothes, playing with swords, going against your own family," He was angry enough to knock her to the floor, she knew that much, whether Ser Aredan saw him do it or not. Only the blunt sword in her hand stopped him. And wasn't that a good feeling?

"Mother would be ashamed enough at other things I've done for this not to matter too much," Jaime shrugged. "Equally, she'd be ashamed at you manhandling your sweet sister in such a way," She bared her teeth in some semblance of a grin.

It took a few seconds, but eventually with no alternative Cersen turned on his heel and stormed off without another word, steam practically coming out his ears. _And you haven't even heard of my upcoming nuptials yet, brother_. 

Jaime's smile dropped the moment he was gone. Her younger self would have been in tears at such a fight with her twin, and even now it still hurt, a lot, even as she tried not to show it. But she saw Cersen now much more clearly than she had done once.

"Jaime," She'd almost forgotten she wasn't alone. Sarsfield's uncommon dropping of her title had her looking up, seeing his carefully neutral face, which she was grateful for. He didn't tend to ask questions, that one. Perhaps that was how he'd made it through the reigns of two mad kings without losing his head. "There was murder in his eyes, then. Be careful,"

She opened her mouth to bite back with something sarcastic and vile, but the words wouldn't come. Jaime nodded mutely instead, accepting his advice, only for her lips to twitch faintly as Sarsfield's eyes widened in slight surprise.

"My thanks for going to such great lengths to stand up for me, ser," She said dryly. He smiled then.

"As if I needed to, when you've got a sword in your hand," That was one of the most genuinely nice things anyone had said to her in a while.

"Where were you when my father was looking for a husband for me?" Jaime sighed, then grinned at the look on his face. "Another woman might take offence to that disgusted expression,"

"I'm sure you've suffered worse," She had to laugh. 

* 

She was different to how Jaime remembered. The Sansa Stark she had met at Winterfell was a vapid little thing, full of silly dreams of valiant knights and everlasting love. The girl she met in the tower cell not too far from Tyrion's was anything but. 

"Lady Jaime," Sansa stood as she entered, setting her intricate embroidery aside and bobbing a flawless curtsey. "I am glad to see you safe. My sincere apologies for any mistreatment you suffered at the hands of my traitor brother," Her eyes only showed fear when you looked close enough. 

_Everyone thinks she killed my son, she knows I've heard that, she doesn't know what I'll do_. Jaime had had little to do with the Stark girl before now, aside from putting up with her doe-eyed fawning in the first few days of their stay at Winterfell, before she'd been told of the Kingslayer's reputation. Jaime didn't know Sansa and Sansa didn't know her, besides her reputation and dealings with her family. Neither of those things could have left her full of confidence for this meeting.

Despite that fear, the girl held her head high, a small show of defiance. She no longer looked at Jaime with awe, either, no longer deceived by beauty and glamour. While she still chirped the same polished courtesies, still acted the perfect lady, Jaime knew that cold, jaded look in her eyes well enough, that of a girl whose dreams and beliefs have been torn to shreds before her eyes, as she realises the world is truly a hard place to live in. 

"Lady Sansa," Jaime eyed her carefully. Still a child, only three-and-ten. But the girl who dreamed of marrying the handsome Joffrey rather than the awkward, plainer crown prince Lyonel was long gone. 

The silence stretched on. Sansa seemed more uncomfortable with every passing second, until she finally opened her mouth. 

"I didn't kill Joffrey, my lady, I swear it," Her tone held a note of pleading, imploring someone to believe her. No doubt Cersen had been in here many times and traumatised her well enough, enough for her to lose her composure now. "He was a good king, brave and true, and I loved him with all my heart," 

Jaime laughed. She couldn't help it. Sansa's eyes widened, confused and afraid. 

"That's a lie," She sat down on the only chair in the room, leaning back. Sansa hovered uneasily, remaining standing. "Joffrey was a terrible king. I'm his mother and I loved him, but most days I struggle to be sorry he's gone," The girl gasped at her cold words, but Jaime caught the tiny twitch of her lips, shocked amusement hastily hidden. "Don't think Tyrion didn't tell me the stories from before you were married. I'd have killed the man that ordered such things done to me," Her smile sharpened. "If I wasn't such a Lannister, I might apologise for my son stripping and beating a highborn hostage in front of half the court. As it is, I'll settle for thrashing each of the Kingsguard in the training yard and be done with it," 

Sansa didn't gawp - that would be unladylike - but she did stare at her for a moment or two like Jaime had just claimed pigs could fly. She sank down slowly onto the narrow bed, hands folded in her lap, not seeming to trust herself to say a word. _Not trusting me with what she has to say, more like_. Jaime took advantage of how caught off-guard she was, pressing forward. 

"I know Tyrion didn't kill Joff," She said, fixing the girl with a stare that was hard to look away from. She didn't know that Sansa had no part in things, though she doubted it. "I'll put this bluntly. You were caught alone, but we both know you had help to escape, you've got too much self-preservation to risk it alone. Tell me who it was, then they can be our assassin - whether they did the deed or not. My father's orders. Find a plausible culprit, then yourself and Tyrion are both declared innocent - one of you being guilty would implicate the other, I'm afraid - and are both saved from Ilyn Payne's sword," She tilted her head carefully. "No need for you to suffer the same death as your father, after all," 

To her credit, Sansa didn't flinch, or show any expression at all. In her place, Jaime would have slapped the woman who threw her father's death in her face wearing that laughing look. Either way, there was no need to mention just yet that the girl was safe from execution already, through a treaty and a betrothal to Lord Baratheon. 

"Why would you let another man take the blame when the true killer is still out there?" Sansa asked a little hesitantly. Suspicious, even. "He was your son. Lord Cersen was furious," She stopped abruptly, realising what she had just implied and giving Jaime a wary look, but she ignored it. 

"Joffrey's dead and gone, finding his killer won't change that. And I'd rather leave it a mystery than see my brother dead for a crime he didn't commit," She replied. "You just happen to be part of the deal. My father wants a scapegoat, and a scapegoat he'll get. Now tell me who it was,"

"He helped me," Sansa said softly. "He was going to get me back home. He's innocent and I don't want him to die,"

"Did my brother tell you they found your hairnet?" Jaime asked pointedly. Her silence told her he had. "It's poisoned, you know, the same poison that killed Joffrey. Who gave you that pretty piece, hm? Whoever gave it to you knew full well what it was. I wouldn't be so quick to call the man innocent. Come on, you've survived so far in this cesspool of a court - would you throw it all away to save the wretched soul who fled at the first sign of trouble, abandoning you to Cersen's guards?" 

Sansa clearly heard the threat, which, though idle, didn't sound it. _Being the Kingslayer has some advantages, at least_. 

"Ser Dontos Hollard," Her voice was little more than a whisper. "He gave me the hairnet, told me to wear it at the feast. He helped me escape, there was meant to be a ship waiting. He left me the moment he knew the guards were catching up with us," Her eyes narrowed slightly - what a Stark she was, to expect such loyalty without questions - and Jaime smiled. 

"Thank you," She said. _Now we just have to find the man_. "Now I can tell you the good news,"

"Good news?" Sansa seemed, perhaps fairly, very wary at that. 

"The new king is less inclined to war than the last," Jaime said. "He also has the positive attributes of not having murdered a Lord Paramount, and looking more like his father than his mother," She paused for a second, daring the girl to say anything to that, but she was tactfully silent. "Orryn is sending peace terms to your brother Robb; he gives up his crown in exchange for a full pardon, the crown helping him drive the Ironborn out of Winterfell, and a good few marriage proposals," 

Sansa actually smiled, a small, tentative, real smile, for what was probably the first time in months. She still looked wary, which Jaime couldn't blame her for. 

"That - that is good news, my lady," Her smile faded. "But my brother will not go home unless Arya and I are returned to him," _She doesn't think we'd let her go_. Jaime still believed it a foolish plan, giving back the Stark hostage whilst all but letting them have Helia for free, but it was what had been decided and she wouldn't show her doubts in front of this one. _Orryn's risking a lot on Stark's blasted honour_. 

"We march to Riverrun after Orryn's wedding to Margaery, where my daughter Helia will marry your uncle, Edmure," She didn't let her distaste for this idea show. "You will be returned to your family for three years. When you turn sixteen, you'll travel south to Storm's End and wed my son, Arthur. Lord Baratheon," Sansa's mouth opened slightly. Clearly this was better than she had dared hope for. 

"I - I'm to go home?" Her smile this time was more than fleeting, but she tempered it under Jaime's stare.

"For a time, yes,"

"Thank you, my lady," 

"It wasn't my decision to make," She said. "You should be thanking the king. Understand that I do not lightly give my eldest daughter over to the enemy, let alone to the man who held me in a dungeon for months," She smiled sharply. "If your brother or uncle ever deigns to break the treaty, or harm Helia in any way, or refuse to send you south again in three years, remind them that retribution will be swift, bloody and brutal,"

"Of course," Sansa nodded at once as though this was reasonable, clearly not expecting anything less. "Robb would never break his word, my lady, not ever,"

"That's good, then," She was somewhat more doubtful about that, given who the boy had married, but there was no point dragging this conversation out more than necessary. "You will be expected to testify in front of the court, I imagine," She got to her feet to leave. "Make sure you sound convincing," 

*

Word had arrived that morning from her men that Ser Dontos Hollard had been found hiding in a rather cheap brothel near the docks, having been unable to find passage on a ship after the regicide. That was suspicious in itself, something Sansa had mentioned as well, that he seemed to have expected to find a ship waiting. 

Not one, but six of the whores, including the owner of the establishment, had come to the castle to turn him in the moment they knew people were looking for him, in exchange for the promised reward. The disgraced knight was currently being retrieved by the city watch, and would soon be ready to wring a confession out of.

"Will Dontos Hollard make a believable kingslayer?" Tyrion frowned after she told him of this news, and her conversation with Sansa. 

"Why wouldn't he?" Jaime asked impatiently, pacing around his cell. "Joffrey humiliated him, threatened to kill him and made him play a fool for months. Don't tell me you wouldn't kill anyone who dressed you in motley,"

"I won't deny that," Her brother pulled a face of agreement. "But killing a king is an awful lot to risk. I don't believe for a second that Hollard had any greater part in this plot than making sure Sansa wore the hairnet, and smuggling her out,"

"Why wouldn't he risk it?" She said. "He would've gotten away with the girl if Cersen hadn't been so paranoid. He'd be free to do whatever he wanted, with a pretty highborn maiden to sweeten the pot," She saw Tyrion's face. "I'm not saying I think he was the brains behind the plot, but he's so unknown to most of Westeros that he might as well be. There's someone else behind the scenes, but finding them takes time we don't have. Do you want to get out of prison with your head on your shoulders or not? We can worry about finding the real culprit once you're free,"

"I suppose it's worth putting it to Father, at least," Tyrion sighed, rubbing his legs, no doubt stiff from where he'd been sat on the windowsill. "It couldn't hurt to get a confession out of him before you do, though,"

"I was planning to have him questioned," She said, grimacing. It was distasteful, but necessary. She would rather send a hundred Dontos Hollard's to the torture chambers than leave her little brother to rot in a cell. 

"Good," Tyrion chuckled darkly, unconcerned. "Just make sure he can stand by the end of it. We need him to make his confession in public," 

It was times like this that Jaime realised she truly was the gentle one of the family.

*

Damp, gloomy and reeking of dead men, the torture chambers were hardly Jaime's favourite place in the castle. But she felt that she might at least have the stomach to watch, given she was the one who had sent the man here in the first place. 

It was a good thing that Dontos Hollard did not take much to break - only a few bruises and a single fingernail being pulled out - spilling everything he knew, because she really did not want to spill her stomach in front of the gaoler and her guards. Blood and gore in battle was one thing, but slowly wounding a man to cause the worst pain possible was another thing entirely.

The name he gave made every eyebrow in the room raise in surprise. 

" _Littlefinger_ gave you the poisoned hairnet?" She asked incredulously, though she supposed in some absurd way, it made sense. Petyr Baelish had always been someone she overlooked; he had no real power, after all, just some lucky minor lord who happened to be very good at counting coppers. But it was odd how he was friends with everyone, so utterly unobjectionable that he flew under everyone's focus. It only made sense that his unremarkable exterior hid a scheming, ambitious snake just like the rest of them.

"Yes," The wretched man sobbed, sagging in his chains where he was manacled to the wall. "Yes, yes, it was Baelish, he was meant to send men to meet us, take us to the docks,"

"Us?"

"Myself and Lady Sansa," He whimpered. "Please, Lady Jaime, have mercy! I know you are a gentle and decent woman at heart, no matter what people say. You'll spare me, I know it!" _Do you now?_

"You killed my son," Her feelings towards this pathetic worm of a man were stronger than expected, particularly if she focused on the baby Joff had once been, warm in her arms, her first child, her boy no matter what he had become. She summoned up every ounce of scorn and spite in her to fix him with a look that she intended to make him soil himself. "Give me a single reason why I should,"

"No, no I didn't kill him! I just made sure the girl wore the hairnet, that's all, I swear it," _Rather poor for a reason that might save your life, ser_.

"Then who put the poison in his wine? Or the pie?"

"I don't know - " He broke off, gasping in pain as the gaoler began to squeeze the tip of his newly nailless finger with pincers. Jaime held up a hand for the man to stop, motioning for Ser Dontos to continue. He did, in shuddering breaths. "All I knew was that an assassin posing as a servant would slip the jewel into the king's wine,"

Of course Baelish hadn't put all his eggs in one basket. She stepped back. 

"Unchain this piece of filth from the wall," Ignoring the pitiful cries of gratitude from the dead man, she continued. "And send a message to my father. Lord Cersen too," Jaime forced herself to grin, turning to Hollard. "You'll confess what you've told us front of the court, and perhaps you'll get the Wall, or at least a quick death. If you refuse, I'll give you to the Mountain to do with as he pleases," The man paled even further, if possible, nodding and crying both.

As she was left in the silence of the dungeons, only a guard for company, Jaime got the nagging feeling that she hadn't got the whole story. Oh, she didn't believe Ser Dontos was holding anything back. The man was neither intelligent nor brave enough for that. But surely Baelish hadn't told him the whole plan? They still did not know what Littlefinger wanted Sansa Stark so much for. And surely he wouldn't have acted alone to poison the _king_. It wasn't like he was In the line of succession, nor, did she think, particularly against having a bastard on the throne.

That was all they were going to get, however, unless Baelish was brought in. Somehow she didn't that would be as easy as locating Dontos Hollard. So long as it got Tyrion out, she could accept that.

*

It took days to prepare for the public announcement, leaving Jaime in a perpetual state of restlessness, just wanting it to all be over and Tyrion to be declared innocent so they could all get on with things.

The one thing that livened up the excruciating wait was Loras Tyrell coming to her solar, rather abashed, and saying he had spoken to Brien, admitting that the man was innocent of Renly's murder. With little else to do, given Steffon and her daughters were in lessons with their maester, Arthur was training and Orryn was being king, she headed to his cell personally to deliver the news.

It was not a long climb up the tower. Brien's cell was on one of the lower levels, still high in the keep, but he clearly wasn't a particularly high priority prisoner.

"Here you are, milady," The guard unlocked the door, holding it open for her.

"Shut it behind me, but don't bother locking it," She told him. "We'll be out soon. Ser Brien is to be released today," The man nodded obediently, and she swept inside.

He was stood at the window, as ugly and awkward as ever, looking almost comically large in the small cell. It was rather like Tyrion's, basic but not uncomfortable. Leagues better than her dungeon at Riverrun. Though she doubted Brien's legs would fit in that bed without spilling over the end.

"Jaime?" His blue eyes widened to see her, the door closing behind her. "I mean, Lady Lan - Baratheon. What are you doing here?"

"Get that wounded pup look off your face, boy," She stood on her tiptoes to peer out of the small window, to an uninspiring view of a rooftop and grey sky. "If I hadn't locked you up, Loras Tyrell would have had your head, and I can't imagine many would have cared enough to stop him,"

"I can beat Loras Tyrell," That comment, given with an almost resentful tone, was the closest thing to arrogance Jaime had seen him express, and she smirked, moving back to face him.

"I don't doubt it," Brien narrowed his eyes at her dry tone, though she wasn't even being sarcastic. 

"He was here, yesterday," He said. "He asked me about Renly, so I told him the truth. Then he got quiet and just left,"

"He came to me, this morning," She shrugged. "He believes you. You're free to go," She moved towards the door when he just stood there. "Now, if you like. Unless you want to stay in this dingy little cell any longer," It took him very little time to gather his meagre belongings, all of them borrowed given the Brave Companions had no doubt taken everything he'd brought from Riverrun. 

"What did you say to him to make him believe me?" Brien's tone was incredulous as they descended the narrow stair, him right behind her. "He _despises_ me,"

"I told him nothing of note, just to speak to you," She smirked, then. "He had to listen - I _am_ Lady Regent of the Seven Kingdoms, after all. It has to have some advantages,"

"Regent?" Brien sounded surprised at that. "I thought you hated politics and scheming,"

"I do," She shrugged. "It was either that or let Father banish Tyrion,"

"Oh," There was a silence, as they reached the bottom of the stair, and he moved to walk beside her. "You look..."

"Different?" She managed a half-smile. "More meat on my ribs and fewer lice in my hair, that's all. The wound's the same, though not as festering, which counts for something I suppose, even if I'm stuck wearing matron's gowns for the rest of my life, like some old septa," She picked at the high-neckline distastefully. 

"That wasn't... I was about to say that it becomes you," Jaime tilted her head, considering him, the unexpected - if awkwardly given - compliment. "Being home becomes you,"

King's Landing was most definitely not her home, but she didn't correct him. Where _was_ home? She would have said Casterly Rock, but she hadn't truly lived there since she was twelve. Storm's End perhaps, where her children were born and raised?

They spoke of little of consequence until they reached the entrance to Maegor's Holdfast. He made a noise of protest when he realised where they were headed to her chambers, but she waved him down, silencing him with the revelation that she had recently spoken to Sansa Stark.

"Come in, ser," She pushed the door open, stepping into her solar. Only when the door was shut did she look to him again. "Cersen is convinced that Sansa Stark helped Tyrion murder Joffrey,"

"No. I will not believe that gentle girl a poisoner," Brien's mouth set in a stubborn scowl.

"You'd not have believed me a murderess either had you met me aged fifteen," It was odd to consider what her younger self would have made of Ser Brien of Tarth. _Or what he would've made of me_. She had never been described as gentle and good, not even as a girl. _Vivacious_ , she had heard one lord describe her as. _Over-bold, arrogant and deserving of a sharp slap_ , another had said. 

"Lady Catelyn said that she had a loving heart," The boy insisted. "It was your brother,"

"Tyrion was due to stand trial. He's in a tower cell not far from yours, as is his wife," Brien eyed her for a moment, surprisingly shrewdly.

"You do not believe he did it,"

"See, boy?" Jaime gave him a hard smile. "We know each other too well. Tyrion's loved me since he took his first step, but he'd never follow me in kingslaying. And he'd never kill my son,"

"No," Brien insisted. "It was not my lady's daughter. It could not have been her,"

"There's the stubborn stupid boy that I remember," He reddened.

"My name is - "

"Brien of Tarth," She sighed. "When did I say that I believe the Stark girl did it? Or that I particularly cared if she did?" He was silent. "If I have my way, Tyrion and Sweet Sansa will walk free. Perhaps even straight to an annulment and sending the girl back to her mother,"

"Why would you tell me all this, if this is truly what you intend? You are betraying your father's wishes,"

"I pay my debts like every good little lion. I did promise Lady Stark her daughters... and one of them is still alive. Besides, you would be surprised at my father's wishes of late,"

"But Joffrey was your - "

"Son? Not for a while now. He was my king in the end, and a bad one. Leave it at that,"

"You think it possible that Sansa killed him. Why protect her?" _Because Joff deserved to die_.

"I have made kings and unmade them. Sansa Stark is my last chance for honour," Jaime smiled thinly. "Besides, us kingslayers should band together," There was a silence.

"Jaime, I - " He broke off, and they both looked up at the sound of voices coming outside the door. She recognised the voices a second before the door opened.

"Gods sake," Two small blurs ran into the room. Jaime, well used to them, moved to stand between them and Brien without thinking, intercepting the twin terrors, who barrelled into her at full speed, hard enough to make her stagger now they'd grown.

"Mother, Mother!" She caught a glimpse of Brien's wide, startled blue eyes but her attention was immediately taken elsewhere.

"How have you not been taught to knock yet?" Jaime interrupted the oncoming babble, looking down at them both, and they shrugged at the same time. She looked up, seeing an amused-looking Helia stood leaning against the door frame.

"I tried to stop them," Her eldest daughter looked about as apologetic as the youngest. Helia's sharp gaze - her own stare from blue eyes - turned to Brien and smiled her mother's dazzling smile at the young knight. Jaime had never seen her wear that smile before, and fought the urge to groan. "I don't believe we've met, ser. I'm Lady Helia, the king's sister," Her tone was sickeningly sweet, and she shot her mother a brief amused look. _For gods sake_.

"The Kingslayer's daughter," Jaime smiled the same smile, only twice as sickening and aimed at said daughter. Argella suddenly yanked at her skirts to show her the braids her maid had put in her hair, taking enough of her attention to let Brien reply.

"A pleasure, my lady," He looked highly uncomfortable, and not at all charmed. Evidently he'd seen enough of that smile to be wary, and rightly so. "I am Ser Brien of Tarth."

"I thought as much," Helia moved closer. "You're the brave knight that brought my mother home," The sarcasm was very faint, but there underneath the false charm. Helia didn't do charm, and even this was simply mocking, for her mother's benefit.

Jaime snorted derisively.

"He wouldn't be here if it weren't for me," She looked up at him. "How was it you were planning on climbing out of that bear pit, ser, before I dropped in?"

"Bear pit?" Her daughter's smile faltered slightly, and Jaime was about to seize on that, but Brien spoke first.

"Jaime - " He flushed slightly at the mistake. "My father had been unable to pay my ransom, so the Bloody Mummers had put me in the bear pit, with a wooden sword. Lady Jaime returned with the northmen and jumped in too. She distracted the bear, until the northmen shot it," Her eldest daughter turned to her with an incredulous look, and though Jaime felt somewhat like slapping him for telling them that much, she also felt rather smug.

"I did say the journey was eventful,"

"You jumped into a _bear pit_?" It wasn't Helia who spoke, but Roanna. The twins had been so uncharacteristically quiet as Brien spoke that Jaime was considering leaving them with him, even if they'd soon have him confessing to Renly's murder just to escape.

"Did you kill a bear, Mother?" Argella started.

"I thought it was knights that were meant to save maidens?"

"Not the other way round,"

"Ser Brien is as big as a bear,"

"As big as _two_ bears,"

"He even _looks_ like a bear,"

"Bears don't have yellow hair, stupid,"

In response to that insult, Roanna gave her sister a sharp shove, to which Argella yanked her curly hair, to which Roanna stamped on her foot.

"Stop that," Jaime grabbed Roanna's wrist, whilst Helia dragged Argella - flailing out with a kick aimed at her twin sister - backwards. "If you want to behave like street urchins I'll leave you both out in Flea Bottom for the day, see how you like that," Quarrel forgotten, both twins both turned to her at once, eyes wide and hopeful. 

"That would be an adventure, Mother,"

"Gods sake," Jaime let go of Roanna's wrist in exasperation, turning past a laughing Helia to glance behind her, only to take one look at Brien's stunned, open-mouthed, slightly panicked expression and burst out laughing. "Aren't they precious?" She said sarcastically. "And you thought I was a pain in th - annoying," Of all things, that was what made the knight smile suddenly. She narrowed her eyes. "What?"

"All those curses and insults through the Riverlands," He said. "It's strange, that's all... seeing you hold it all back," Helia clearly saw the funny side as she laughed. Jaime grinned a little grudgingly at how surprised he still looked by her. She realised that whilst Brien had seen near every side of her at some point since they'd met, he hadn't ever seen her as a mother. No doubt that was unnerving enough.

" _Mother_ ," Argella spoke then in that irritating wheedling voice. "Can we go to see Arthur in the yard?"

"Septa Eglantine wouldn't let us,"

" _Please_ Mother,"

"Fine, if it means I'll be rid of you," Jaime said. "Go and tell the septa, get a guard to take you," The twins ran out eagerly.

"From what I've heard, appeasement isn't the best strategy in war," Helia said with a straight face.

"It is when it makes them not mine to deal with," She shrugged, making her daughter snort.

"You birthed them, they'll always be yours to deal with,"

"More's the pity," Jaime was then reminded of something that had been on her mind since she arrived back, and probably should have asked about sooner. "Where is Princess Cassana? I have heard nothing of her. She clearly isn't here,"

"Storm's End," Her daughter replied. "We left her there when we came here for the wedding. It seemed the safest thing to do, given how there were whispers from those that hated Joffrey that Robert's daughter should be queen, rather than his nephew. Not that I disagreed that a five year old could do a better job, but I suppose we had wars enough to deal with, let alone another one within the family,"

"Yes, perhaps not," _So long as the girl's safe_. "How was she, before you left?"

"Safe, happy and being led astray by the little twins," Helia said. "She seems to have taken a shine to Steffon, though. I believe he was teaching her to read, before," 

"That would tidy things up a little, if the girl could become a maester," She shook her head. "You'd best follow your sisters. I'd bet my right hand that they haven't found a guard, and aren't going to see Arthur either,"

"You're probably right," Her daughter said. "I'll check Flea Bottom first," As she left after the twins, she smiled at Jaime rather slyly, with a pointed look and merry wave of farewell to Brien, who was frowning.

"It's strange, seeing you with them," He said once the door was shut.

"Am I so different around them?" Jaime grinned. "Aside from not cursing like a sellsword - like I usually do, according to you - that is?"

"You're not," He smiled faintly. "That's the strange thing. You don't hide yourself around them,"

"You think I should?"

"No!" He shook his head. "I didn't mean it like that. Just... I always knew you had children, but - " He broke off.

"Never pictured me as a mother?" She suggested, and Brien nodded a little sheepishly. "I'm not much of one, in truth. Running off and leaving them alone for a year at the first chance I get,"

"They don't seem to mind," He pointed out. "Your daughter, Lady Helia... She seems to be a lot like you,"

"She was exaggerating for your benefit," Jaime said. "She's not normally so... flamboyant, but I'll admit she has my sharp tongue," She smirked then. "Why do you say that? Did you think her pretty?"

"What? No, of course not, I - " She laughed as he blustered.

"That's rather rude, ser, calling a young girl ugly to her mother's face,"

"You know what I meant," Brien scowled at her. "I wasn't looking to see if she was pretty or not," Any other man and she would have laughed in their face at that. "You know I wasn't, or you wouldn't be laughing now,"

"I'll give you that, boy. If it's any consolation," Jaime patted his arm mockingly. "I believe the little twins scared you more than darling Helia,"

"They certainly seem to have your lack of care for rules,"

"And getting into ill-advised confrontations," She said dryly. "Though even I wasn't that bad as a child," 

"Did you and your brother never fight?"

"Not often," She considered that, thinking back. "Most of the time it was just playing," 

Which had gone too far, far too early, now she thought about it. It made her slightly nauseous thinking of her son Steffon doing some of the things she and Cersen had done at that age and younger. _Even when we were of an age with Argella and Roanna, when two children sharing a bed should be a completely innocent thing_. 

"But when we fought for real, I always won," Jaime laughed. "This was as children, though, when we were both the same size and the only difference between us was that I spent time training with a sword and he did not," 

"Can Lord Cersen not use a sword?" Brien asked, surprised. There was an odd note to his tone, that made her eyes search his face for something she wasn't sure was there. 

"He can," She said. "He doesn't enjoy it. He's good enough, I suppose - all those hours Father forced him to train as a boy, he'd have to be - and he'd survive a battle. Not that he'd ever be in the middle of one. Nothing, special though," Ah, there it was. Her eyes lit up as she found what she'd been looking for. _Scorn_. Faint, but there. "Not to worry, ser," Jaime said, smirking none too subtly. "Your swordplay is _leagues_ better than my brother's,"

It was a sign that he'd spent a lot of time in her company that it only took him a moment of brow-furrowing to work out why she looked so amused by that. An even greater sign that, for a fleeting moment, his lips twitched before returning to a grimace.

"Did you have to put it like that?" 

"You make it too easy, boy," She said, grinning. "Spend enough time in my son Arthur's company and you'll soon learn to watch your tongue. I'd say there has never been a Lord Baratheon who delighted more in crude jests, except Robert was lord before he was king. At least my son has the excuse of being thirteen, rather than thirty,"

"It doesn't sound like there's much of Stannis in him, then,"

"Careful," Jaime warned. "I've found it's unwise to make such statements concerning my children, especially now people take talk like that rather more seriously than they did before,"

"I thought you said the other six were clearly Baratheon?"

"Yes, but people wonder which one," She sighed dramatically, and his eyes widened in realisation. 

"They surely don't believe that you and - and King Robert..?"

"Some of them believe me and Ned Stark," She said. "Others believe me and Rhaegar Targaryen. I've even heard a shocking rumour that I laid with my own brother," She pulled a disgusted face, deliberately waiting for Brien to look confused before continuing. "Why do you look like that, boy? I'm talking about Tyrion,"

"You're insufferable," He shook his head, but smiled nonetheless.

"That shouldn't be a surprise," Jaime said, smile sharpening. "Speaking of insufferable, I'm sure you recall the last time we fought. I'd rather like to even the score. If you're not too weak from your dreadful imprisonment,"

"Goading me won't work," Brien shook his head. 

"It doesn't have to. You can't tell me you're not dying to spar with me now I'm not in chains and half a skeleton,"

"No," He said. "I suppose I can't,"

As they headed down to her training yard, her tourney sword and breeches in hand, it struck her that she had neglected to tell him of her recent betrothal. Why that was of note, Jaime wasn't sure. _There's no need, not just yet_. It wasn't like it was any of Brien's business, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All text from A Storm of Swords is property of George RR Martin.
> 
> It's been a long time since the last update on this, I know; issues with the timeline made me hold back posting this one as I had to shuffle a few scenes around. I've got the next few chapters outlined though so the next should be up sooner. 
> 
> I know some readers are unhappy with Myrcella's betrothal to Dorne. Respectfully, that isn't really the main focus of this story. I see where you're coming from saying it doesn't make too much sense and when I go back to edit I may take it out, but it really isn't that important here and I doubt it will get another mention in following chapters.
> 
> As usual, feedback is very welcome. Thanks to all those readers that have reviewed/commented already. Do you still feel like the characters are in character now I've mostly moved away from the outline of the books? Please let me know if not.


	13. Silence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IMPORTANT: for those that read the last two chapters before 16/12/2020, there have been a few changes I have gone back and made. Annoying I know, so apologies for that, but having put some thought into it, I believe they enhance the story. As both chapters are rather long, I'll summarise the biggest change here; instead of Myrcella being betrothed to Trystane, Jaime is betrothed to Oberyn. I also fixed a few errors (mentions of the Blackwater, which never happened here). 

Jaime stood at the foot of the Iron Throne along with her father, as Orryn addressed the assembled court from his lofty seat. 

"The death of my brother, King Joffrey was a great tragedy," Her son even managed to make that sound convincing. "My uncle, Lord Cersen, saw fit to imprison my Uncle Tyrion at the time of his Grace's death, under suspicion of regicide. I come before you today to declare that fortunately, Lord Cersen was mistaken in his grief at his nephew's death. Lord Tyrion did not murder my brother. Not only that, but the real culprit has been found,"

Gasps and muttering filled the hall. Some were expressing doubt at the king's claims, concerned his wicked dwarf uncle had deceived him somehow. Others were swearing all along that they never believed Tyrion had done such an awful thing; many of these were the same ones Jaime had lately heard proclaiming to anyone who would listen that they'd always known the Imp was evil, and wished they'd shared their misgivings about him earlier.

Orryn raised his voice to be heard over them, and quickly the murmur died down.

"The Lady Sansa Lannister," He nodded to the girl, who stood with a neutral expression as all eyes fell on her. "In a display of true loyalty to her husband and the Iron Throne, informed us that as my beloved brother lay gasping his last breaths on the floor, several men snatched her away in an attempted kidnap, using the chaos of the king's assassination as a cover, an attempt that our own guards thankfully foiled. Who was the man leading this group, my lady?"

"Ser Dontos Hollard, your Grace" Sansa said, voice the perfect balance between believably nervous and convincing. "I believed him to be a harmless fool. Ser Dontos was always kind to me, before then. He even gave me a beautiful hairnet as a gift, to wear to the wedding,"

"This hairnet, my lady?" Orryn lifted his hand, revealing the purple jewels clasped in his clenched fist.

"Yes, your Grace," The girl nodded. 

"No doubt you believed it a harmless, well-meant gift, my lady, as most of us would, particularly someone of your gentle nature," The king said. _Gentle_. Jaime wasn't so sure about that anymore. _Not after us Lannisters got to her. Not after Joffrey took her father's head_. Orryn addressed the court. "We found this hairnet in a suspicious location, and Grand Maester Pycelle wisely saw fit to study it," He gestured down to the table where the Small Council sat. "Grand Maester, would you inform the court of your findings?" 

The ancient old fool doddered to his feet, clearing his throat.

"Poison, your Grace," Another perfect dramatic delivery. Another round of gasps from the court. Sansa's hand flew to her mouth, eyes widening in convincing horror. If this hadn't been for Tyrion, Jaime would have laughed aloud at the performance everyone was putting on. Indeed, Helia looked close to rolling her eyes. "These gems contain a rare and deadly poison called the Strangler, known to cause a manner of death exactly like our dear departed king's,"

Once again, Orryn raised a hand for silence, which was fast in coming, but not as fast as if Lord Tywin had demanded it.

"Upon learning this information, I sent men to search for the missing Ser Dontos. He was found in a whorehouse by the docks - having failed to escape the city by ship - and extensively questioned," _That's right, best not say I did it_. The moment they heard the Kingslayer was involved, the moment they start questioning the validity of the confession. "Bring him out," 

A murmur went through the court as the disgraced knight was dragged out before the court in chains. He did look rather worse for wear, but not bad enough for anyone to find issue with. Not that they'd even done that much to the man, given how quickly he'd cracked. Hollard had been dressed in fine clothes - it was harder to pity someone who did not look so wretched - and of course wore gloves to hide the missing fingernail.

"Tell the court of your treason," Orryn ordered. "How you murdered my brother, King Joffrey," Ser Dontos wisely did as asked, confessing in a halting voice how he despised Joffrey for the king making him play the fool, and had wanted him dead for a while. The perfect opportunity came when he was approached by Petyr Baelish - and didn't that bring forward a lot of gasps and angry muttering - and offered coin to give the poisoned hairnet to Lady Sansa, and slip a jewel into the king's wine during the feast. Also, to abduct Sansa in the resulting chaos.

It wasn't exactly what the man had told Jaime, but it was close enough. No doubt Lord Tywin had told Hollard exactly what to say, reinforcing her threat of giving him to the Mountain if he didn't comply. And if things had got this far, her father had to have approved, which meant Tyrion was as good as free the moment the court assembled

"Dontos Hollard is a weak-willed, yellow-bellied excuse of a man," Orryn said. "Petyr Baelish is an ambitious, slippery social climber, who believed my brother to be too strong a king to easily manipulate, and wished to destabilise the kingdoms in order to twist the chaos to his advantage," 

His lip curled slightly in a distinctly Lannister way. Good on him for playing the fears of most lords and ladies - those of lower birth rising above their station - against them. 

"Lord Baelish is due to land in the Vale in the next few weeks, our informants say. All the lords of the Vale have been told of his coming, and will be waiting for him, to bring him back to King's Landing for trial. As for Dontos Hollard, he has confessed to regicide and will be beheaded before the city three days from now. But for now, I wish to declare before all of you, that at no point was Tyrion Lannister nor his wife Lady Sansa brought into any suspicion during the questioning of Ser Dontos. My uncle is an innocent man, wrongly accused by Lord Cersen in his grief for his nephew, and will walk free among us once more,"

Jaime did smile then. She would never enjoy the plotting and scheming nature of court, but at times like this, when she got what she wanted... she could understand what others saw in it, especially now her little brother was no longer under threat of execution. And the scumbag that aided in her son's death was to pay for it.

*

Orryn's wedding was not as spectacular as Joffrey's. Partly because of the mounting debt the crown owed Tywin Lannister, the Iron Bank and many other lenders besides, but also because Jaime was the one planning it rather than her brother or Lady Tyrell.

Not to say it was meagre, by any means. The bride looked beautiful, the king looked impressive, and seven courses at the feast was more than enough; if anyone was missing the additional seventy, Jaime did not hear any complaints about it. Most importantly, this time she was present to see her son be married, draping the black and gold cloak bearing the Baratheon stag around Margaery Tyrell's shoulders, most definitely not the Lannister cloak Joffrey had used; and what had Cersen been thinking when he made that decision?

There was, very deliberately, not a hint of red on Orryn's person. Her son wore black, with gold accents, and a shimmering gold cloak, which was clearly appreciated by the members of the city watch. The crowds cheered as he rode through the city on his fine black warhorse, first alone heading to the Great Sept and then back to the Red Keep with his new wife at his side. 

Jaime wasn't sure if they were cheering Orryn himself, or the fact that they no longer had a king who ordered crossbows shot at them, but it was a good show nonetheless. And Margaery was no less popular, the darling of the city. Her father giving out food to starving citizens no doubt helped the girl there. 

Cersen loathed the whole thing, of course. Not visibly - to most he appeared charming, gracious and nothing but pleased for his nephew - but she knew him better, saw the cold look in his eye. Her twin was ignoring her at the moment, clearly expecting her to come to him begging his forgiveness before long. She couldn't blame him for thinking that, for that's how things would have gone in the past, but it was different now. He'd realise that eventually, perhaps. More likely he wouldn't, but there was little she could do about that.

Partway through the feast, Jaime found herself only a few feet away from the new queen. She had not interacted much with Margaery Tyrell before, yet like Cersen, there had to be more to her than the perfection she presented outwardly; kind, chaste, demure, cheerful, intelligent, gracious, witty, beautiful, polished. Jaime had perhaps been two of those things at her age. The girl was much too good to be true. 

"Lady Jaime," Margaery looked up at her approach, smiling warmly and excusing herself from the crowd of fawning young ladies around her. "I must say, you look very beautiful tonight. Radiant, even,"

"Thank you, your Grace," Many others had told her the same thing. She had once taken compliments like that as a given - of course she looked beautiful - but now she took them with a pinch of salt. Either way, she had never been moved by such flattery, but it couldn't hurt to try and be pleasant for once. She didn't particularly want her son's bride as an enemy. Not without reason. "But I could hardly hope to outshine the Rose of Highgarden at her own wedding," 

The little queen laughed a tinkling laugh. 

"I do hope we will become good friends, now myself and his Grace are married," Gods, she was sweet enough to be sickening. "I am sure you have much to teach me about married life, and my new responsibilities,"

"I was never queen. I can teach you how to use a sword, but I believe you exceed me in most other matters; politics, being a lady, being a good wife, playing a part," Her smile sharpened. "I hope, anyway. Be a good wife to my son, and I'm sure we will get along just fine," So much for being nice. 

Before Margaery could think up a reply to that, Jaime glanced back to the crowd of young girls she had left behind, all eyes darting their way and whispering behind their hands. 

"Are they pitying you for ending up with the Kingslayer as your goodmother?" She raised an eyebrow, wondering how much it would take for the girl's mask to crack. Probably more than she was willing to give, considering how well Margaery had held up against Joff.

"It isn't kind that people still call you that, after all this time," The girl barely blinked, even managing to seem sympathetic. Unfortunate, given how Jaime hated sympathy. "I try my best not to listen to rumours, Lady Jaime, though many of my ladies are dreadful gossips. I'm sure you know how young girls get," She gave a slightly regretful but nonetheless warm smile. _If you were willing to marry Joff given what everyone said about him, you must indeed have had your ears sewn shut_. 

Jaime caught the watchful eye of Olenna Tyrell on them from some distance away, and smiled, amused. _She's her grandmother's pretty puppet, is all_. Still, it would be worth paying attention to Queen Margaery, just in case.

"I could reduce them all to tears in less than five words," She cast a mildly disdainful eye over the group, then grinned abruptly. "Though I doubt I could to you. You've got a thicker skin, I wager. That's a good thing to have in this place,"

"In this family?" That little sentence didn't have the same polished, practiced air that the rest of the girl's actions did. No, it was... witty? And coupled with a fleeting wicked look. Jaime smirked, wondering if she'd just got a glimpse of the real Margaery Tyrell.

"You've picked that up at least," She said dryly. "There's some hope for you yet," The girl actually laughed at that, properly laughed, rather than that tinkling little noise that everyone found so charming.

After they parted, Jaime watched as a giggling young Tyrell cousin flung herself at the queen, and her flawless smile switched back on in the blink of an eye. Jaime shook her head, amused. The girl was good.

"My lady," She turned around, then looked up, to see Brien stood before her. He looked as ugly and awkward as ever, though someone had dressed him in the new clothes she'd instructed Pia to have made for him, knowing he had nothing suitable to wear to a feast. 

"Blue is a good colour on you, ser," Jaime said, forgoing a greeting. "It goes well with your eyes," _He does have astonishing eyes_. Brien glanced down at himself, flustered. 

"Pia said you sent her," There was somewhat of a strangled note to his voice, and it took her a second to realise why. When she did, she laughed, loudly. 

"Would you believe me if I just asked her to see that you had some decent clothes?" That was the truth, but she gave the knight a sly look nonetheless. "Well, then, how was Pretty Pia?"

"I didn't - we - she - " Brien broke off uncomfortably. "I sent her away," 

"Are you a pillow biter?" She blinked in surprise, both at his words and the fact she was somewhat glad he _had_ sent her away. The idea of Pia and Brien together was oddly disconcerting.

" _No_ ," He protested, a flush of anger rising to his cheeks. "I just didn't want her," There was something in his voice there, as he looked at her, that made Jaime pause. "You look..."

"Different?" She suggested with a half-smile, echoing his words from the other day. "Better than old and tired, I suppose," She'd overheard a group of ladies sharing that particular opinion earlier. At least they couldn't tell she was stuffing half her chest, or they'd have had a field day.

"I was going to say you look beautiful," Her eyes widened, and he flushed again, though this time from embarrassment. "Forgive me, my lady, I didn't - "

"Jaime," She said without thinking. "Call me Jaime. I thought being called Kingslayer across the Riverlands was tiresome, but it's just plain odd hearing you address me properly," She smiled her dazzling smile then, because really, his subsequent awkwardness had not diminished the surprisingly well-delivered compliment. "Perhaps it's the dress. I thought gold was appropriate for the occasion - it always was my colour. Green better suits my eyes, but no proud lion could ever wear green to a Tyrell wedding," She swirled her skirts slightly, and he smiled.

"Speaking of Tyrells, Ser Loras challenged me to a spar earlier,"

"No doubt that's what he was whining about earlier - you winning through dirty tricks. He claims you beat him that way at Bitterbridge, and I must say I can see where he's coming from,"

"I never said I won. And whenever I have beaten you, I have done so fairly!"

"You didn't have to. And have you forgotten the time you tried to drown me in a river?" He narrowed his eyes rather indignantly at that.

"You were trying to kill me at the time!"

"Why don't you shout that a bit louder, boy," Jaime said flatly, but her eyes were amused. "You're not doing anything to help my reputation. And I've heard accusing the mother of the king of attempted murder is a sure way to get yourself removed from a royal wedding feast," He opened his mouth, but she cut him off, grinning. "Lighten up. Why don't you come and dance,"

"I don't dance," His eyes immediately widened in what could only be called panic. "I can't dance,"

"Any man can dance," Jaime went to grab his wrist, but he'd folded his arms. "All you have to do is stand there while your partner makes you look good," She stepped back and sighed. "Gods, you're as stubborn as a mule," She smiled sharply. "Trust me, even if you've got two left feet, it won't matter. No one's looking, besides," All eyes were on the young couple, and she was glad.

"That's not true," Brien said. "Your brother has been glaring this way ever since we started talking," 

"Of course he has..." Jaime whirled around, catching Cersen's eye from where he sat at the high table, fake smile on his face as he pretended to listen to whichever mildly influential sycophant he'd ensnared now, whilst his eyes were glaring daggers in the direction of her and Brien. Her brother held her stare for a few moments, lip curling, then he turned away again. "He refuses to speak to me, yet keeps lurking in the background,"

"I thought you and Lord Cersen were too cl - I mean, very close?" Subtly really wasn't one of his strengths.

"We were," She said. "Until I refused to let Tyrion die for a crime he didn't commit, then stole the position of Regent from him," She smiled suddenly, brightly, making up her mind there and then. "It doesn't matter if Cersen is watching or not. Dance with me, ser," He was caught off guard this time, and only made weak protests as she dragged him towards the other dancing wedding guests. "I trust you know how," 

Her tone was laden, and he flushed, hands hovering awkwardly over her waist. 

"Get over yourself," Jaime grinned, moving his hands onto her properly. "You've touched more of me than this,"

"The circumstances were hardly the same," The ghost of a smile appeared at his lips as they started to move in time with the music.

"And thank the gods for it," She said. "I hope I never need to be dragged unconscious from a bathtub again. Of course, I doubt we'd be permitted to share a bath, now we're not at Harrenhal. My husband-to-be wouldn't care overmuch, but I'm sure my father would,"

"Husband-to-be?" Brien's big blue eyes widened, and then she remembered he didn't know, that no one did. 

"Oberyn Martell," She grimaced slightly. "My daughters are too valuable to give to Dorne, so Father dearest is giving me instead,"

"But you had eight children with your first husband," He saw the look on her face and pulled a face. "You know what I mean. How can he expect you... again?" It was almost charming, how outraged he appeared on her behalf.

"I've made it perfectly clear that he shouldn't expect any children," She said. "That shouldn't be a problem, given neither of us are heir to anything. Truthfully, things shouldn't change too much. I'll still live in the city. Prince Oberyn isn't the worst match, aside from wanting half my family dead, but it would be hard to find a man in Westeros I'm not related to that doesn't want that,"

"You _want_ to marry him?" Brien sounded normal enough, but his eyes looked... hurt?

"No," Jaime said. "But if I have to marry anyone, I'd rather marry the man who doesn't particularly care what I do and who with," She laughed then. "Prince Oberyn has eight bastard daughters, he's got no room to question what I do,"

"So you will soon have fifteen children," 

"I believe the eldest is scarce six or seven years younger than I am. I wonder if she'll call me mother,"

The song the musicians troupe were playing changed then, to something faster and more upbeat.

"You're a good dancer," Brien sounded slightly surprised as the steps became faster and more complicated in turn.

"You've seen my footwork with a sword in hand," Jaime grinned. "Why would it be any lesser without?"

"I just... didn't expect it,"

"Too ladylike for me?" She raised an amused eyebrow.

"Well, yes," 

"Most people here would be more surprised to see me covered in mud and blood, fighting with a sword and wearing borrowed breeches than dancing at a courtly feast in a pretty dress,"

"Can you blame me? The first time I saw you, you were dead-drunk and I had to all but carry you out of a dungeon," He chuckled slightly. "You smell better like this," Jaime laughed, feeling lighter than she had done in a while, and she hadn't even drunk that much. She couldn't even see Cersen glowering at them anymore.

As that song finished, she saw Helia making a beeline for them, looking nothing short of furious. 

"Excuse me, ser," She moved away from Brien to intercept her daughter. 

"Have you seen _that?"_ Helia hissed, trying not to draw attention to them but jabbing a finger in the direction of the dance floor. 

It took Jaime a few seconds to see what she was pointing at, but when she did she felt anger rise up in her, as her blood ran cold. She swore under her breath and narrowed her eyes at the sight of her brother dancing with her daughter. Ordinarily the brother in question would be Tyrion, and the sight would make her smile, but it wasn't, and didn't. Cersen was dancing with Myrcella, and shot Jaime a rather nasty smirk when he saw her looking. 

"We can't make a scene," Helia reminded her needlessly. Jaime knew that, but if the girl hadn't been there with her hand on her arm that wouldn't have stopped her going over and making one. "It would cause too many whispers, or I'd have gone right over there,"

"In that case I suppose I shouldn't go myself," She said darkly. "I can only imagine the whispers at that. The Kingslayer's been upstaged by her younger and more beautiful daughter, they'll say. Gods, that look on his face... he's her _uncle_ ," It was rather too similar to the look he once gave his sister for her to not be disgusted. But given he'd always viewed Jaime as an extension of himself, what had her twin twisted Myrcella - his daughter, the girl who looked so much like her mother, and therefore like him - into in his head?

"I'll do it," Helia said, a vicious note to her tone. "I'll make up some excuse. Cella won't object, she likes him no more than I do. Likely he gave her no way of saying no to a dance,"

"He's good at that," Jaime muttered. "Speak of something else, if we can't do anything until the song ends, or I might just smash something," She looked around for inspiration, seeing Brien some distance away, talking with some other young knights but glancing their way rather often.

"You look lovely tonight, Mother," The change in her daughter's expression was deliberately overdramatic, not nearly as polished as Margaery Tyrell who she was no doubt trying to impersonate, and Jaime had to chuckle at the unnaturally cheery smile Helia now wore. She took the time to appreciate how beautiful her daughter looked as well, in a gown of black, red and gold, more low cut than usual, the style she had favoured herself, before the Bloody Mummers.

"So do you," She replied. "You've turned a few heads tonight. Why, Ser Brien is hardly able to take his eyes off you," He still kept glancing their way. Helia laughed.

"You blind fool," Her daughter shook her head. "It's not me he's looking at,"

"Not this again," Jaime glanced in the knight's direction, and he flushed slightly, looking away. "A pretty dress can't make him unsee what he's seen of me. Not to mention he's half a boy,"

"He's what, five-and-twenty?" Helia teased. "Doesn't look like half a boy. That's only eight years younger than you,"

"Thirteen years younger," She replied flatly. "He's barely twenty, with a face like the back end of a horse,"

"He's old enough to notice a beautiful woman," She shrugged. "There's been marriages with worse age differences. And his face is hardly a deal-breaker, look at the rest of him,"

"Are you trying to irritate me?" Jaime shot her daughter a half-hearted glare, but then the song stopped. They looked at each other. 

"See you later," Helia's jaw set as she strode off towards her sister. Though that wasn't what any of them wanted tonight, it would be rather interesting to see an open confrontation between that girl and Cersen. _The unstoppable force meets the immovable object_.

Having seen Helia successfully extract Myrcella from Cersen's clutches, placing an arm around her sister's shoulder as she led her away, Jaime suddenly felt a wave of bitterness. _It was never meant to be like this_. Thinking of how her twin had been once made her sad for what he had become. Or had he always been like this and she'd been too blind to notice? Either way, she mourned how she had felt then, like being with him was all she would ever need. Things were simpler then.

That feeling wasn't helped as she looked over to Brien and saw that he had attracted the attention of a rather forward serving girl. _She's quite pretty, too_. Why did Jaime not like to see that, the young knight with a pretty girl, finally, after all her needling? She was never one for jealousy, let alone over one such as Ser Brien of Tarth.

To prove that she wasn't jealous, she went and found Tyrion, with the aim of drinking, a lot. Her little brother was already well along the path to waking up in a pool of his own vomit, more than enjoying his freedom, even weeks after being declared innocent. Jaime had to smile as he patted her arm and filled her cup for her, spilling half of it all over the table.

"They can't ac - cuse me of murder again if I'm - if I'm passed out under the table," Tyrion said solemnly, tapping his nose. 

"That's... true enough," She shrugged, downing half the cup in one swallow.

Every now and then Jaime would look up and see that same serving girl hanging around Brien. Why he hadn't left with her yet was beyond her. A face like that, he should be grateful for attention from such a pretty girl. How could the man who was beaten to a pulp for refusing to submit to the Bloody Mummers turn so shy when it came to matters like this?

She wasn't quite sure when she left the hall, going into the yard. Time had started to blur a little after the bedding ceremony. Jaime hadn't realised how drunk she was until she got to her feet. It wasn't anywhere near the level that she'd be passing out in corridors for any passing Roberts to find, but she did have to focus somewhat more than usual on not tripping over her skirts. 

Someone called her name as she left the courtyard, but she barely registered it, until she heard heavy footsteps behind her and someone caught her arm. 

"Jaime," Brien let her go as she turned, and she looked up at him, into those wide blue eyes. "Where are you going?"

"To bed," She carried on walking, though went past the way to Maegor's Holdfast, to the now deserted cloisters, knowing she'd be unable to sleep just yet but trying to get rid of him. "Have you been drinking?" Her lips quirked in a smile. "I smell it on you,"

"Not quite as much as you have, I think,"

"Did you mean it?" She found herself asking, stopping in her tracks. "Earlier, when you said I looked beautiful?" It sounded pathetic even as the words left her lips, but she had drunk too much to care. They stood in the shadows of the castle, the sounds of the feast still going on in the distance.

"Of course," He looked baffled that she'd think anything else. What had she done to make him look at her like she was the maiden herself? _Twenty, he's twenty years old, where I am a widow of three and thirty. I was birthing my first son at the same time he was running around playing with wooden swords and toy knights_.

But as usual, Jaime didn't listen to her head, standing on her tiptoes and pulling his head down to meet her lips in what was, for her, an unusually soft kiss. It was a spur of the moment thing, not even a decision; she was just as surprised at herself as he likely was. 

Brien froze, seeming too shocked to respond. She quickly pulled back, stepping away. That look on his face, and the cold night air, had cleared her head somewhat. Not necessarily a good thing.

"Apologies," She said shortly, to hide the fact her heart was sinking. "That was a momentary lapse of judgement. Put it down to the drink and I'll leave you to your pretty serving wench," She turned and started to walk away.

"No, I - " He broke off, struggling to get his words out as he caught her up. "I mean to say - you weren't - I don't want that girl," Brien's voice was stronger now, and she looked up at him as they walked, side by side. The implied meaning, which he was too shy to say, was obvious from the way he was looking at her.

"You'd prefer a widow with the stretch marks from birthing eight children to a young, willing girl like that?" Jaime raised an eyebrow. "I bet she even has two breasts. Why don't you check, just to be sure?" _And you never saw her on her back on a forest floor_.

"I don't care about that," He said. "Any of it. Why would I? Look at my face,"

"I'd rather look at your body," That was out of her mouth before she could think about what she was saying, and she had to grin at her own words, seeing his blush deepen. It was only half a joke, but of course he thought she was mocking him. "I'd like to think my face has held up better than the rest of me," She offered with less of a leer. "Between us, we make the full set,"

"I suppose that's one way of looking at it," Brien smiled faintly. "But, Jaime, I've never even - " He broke off, embarrassed.

"You say that like I wasn't rubbing it in your face all the way from Riverrun," She said. "You'd only be my third," _Well, my third willingly. Seventh if you're really counting_. And wasn't that depressing. "I'm really not as much of a whore as they say. So far, I've only been with one man other than my husband. And believe me, no matter what happens, you can't be any worse than my wedding night. Even you're not as uptight as Stannis was," At first, anyway, but she didn't mention that. 

"Was that the first time... you know,"

"Don't ask when I lost my maidenhead, ser. It makes me realise I am genuinely old enough to be your mother,"

"But there's only thirteen years between us, and you married Stannis after you killed the king..." She fixed him with a look, and realisation crossed his face. "Oh," He frowned, though more out of confusion than judgement. " _How_ did no one ever find out?"

"At the time we thought we were so clever," Jaime smiled faintly. "Likely people _did_ find out, and were quite rightly too scared to tell our father. But we got better at hiding it," Abruptly she grinned. "Perfect for situations such as this, ser. My reputation is in tatters already, but best not soil that of Ser Brien of Tarth, the maiden knight," She laughed at the unimpressed look he gave her. 

"Was your tongue always so sharp, my lady?"

She stopped walking then, smirked and took a step towards him, less than an inch from his muscular chest. She stood on her tiptoes once more, hands on his shoulder to murmur in his ear. 

"Let me up to your rooms and I'll show exactly how sharp and wicked my tongue can be,"

"Jaime!" She laughed at his shocked exclamation, falling back onto her heels and linking her arm with his as they continued on their way. She caught his smile at that gesture, felt how he unconsciously pulled her slightly towards him.

"Not tonight, ser, I fear I have drunk rather too much wine," She said, spying an alcove in the wall. "Although..." 

With a sly look she tugged him into the alcove. He followed much more easily than he had when she dragged him out to dance, and when she moved to kiss him, he was already lowering his head to meet her. 

This kiss was harder, and much less sweet. Jaime's back hit the wall and she let her leg hook around his knee, but then two large hands grabbed her waist, lifting her clean off the ground. Chuckling against his mouth, she wrapped her legs around his hips instead, not caring that her skirt had risen up rather high, and looked into Brien's flushing face.

"Didn't know you had that in you, ser," She said coyly. He was clearly regretting what he'd done, though not so much that he wasn't enjoying it. No, proof of that was pressing against her thigh. 

"Jaime, sorry, I - "

"Stop apologising," She kissed him again. "And don't you dare put me down,"

*

Jaime shut the door to her chambers, tired but smiling. Her son had got married today, and was spending his first night with his beautiful young wife, securing the Tyrell alliance in the process. Even the alcohol she had drunk was wearing off. And Brien... 

She had forgotten what it was like to be looked at like that. Stannis, in their most private moments, had occasionally shown hints of that look, but nowhere near the level Brien did. Cersen only wore that look for Joffrey, or in front of a mirror.

Waltzing slightly into the dimly-lit room like a giddy maiden, fumbling with the laces of her constricting gown as she had given Pia the night off, Jaime kicked off her shoes. Her gown undone, she slipped it off, leaving her in a chemise and smallclothes. The rags stuffing half her chest fell to the floor with the outer dress, and for the first time, she didn't resent the sight of them.

She was just starting to loosen the pins holding her hair up, when something out of the corner of her eye caught her by surprise. Jaime looked up with a start and a gasp as she saw a figure sat in the shadows, at the chair by the window, face shrouded in darkness, though that golden hair was unmistakable. 

"Cersen," She hissed as her brother got to his feet, his slight stumble telling her he wasn't entirely sober. Nothing new there. "What in the seven hells are you doing here?" 

Once, finding him in her rooms whilst everyone was distracted at a feast would be a usual affair, and eagerly welcomed. Tonight it was neither, though a part of her wanted nothing more to let herself fall into his arms and pretend, just once more. He was so handsome, hair glinting warmly in the candlelight, tall and lean, his face as stunning as her own. But the feeling of being in Brien's arms, big blue eyes looking down at her, refused to leave her. She wasn't sorry.

"Can't I come and see my sweet sister?" He smirked. 

"I thought you couldn't stand the sight of me,"

"Ah, Jaime," He stumbled forward, the longing in his eyes evident. Once again, she was tempted, that familiar thrill - and love, yes - rising to the surface. _So easy, to give in to him as I've done so many times before. Nothing else matters when we're together, even if only for that short time_. "How you must have missed me. Longed for me," 

The arrogance of that statement tempered her feelings somewhat. 

"I saw you at the wedding," She said neutrally instead. "Smiling and laughing, playing the court like you were born to it, but your eyes were cold the whole day,"

"And why should I celebrate the marriage of the boy that despises me, to that scheming bitch Margaery Tyrell, widow of both Orryn's uncle and his brother?" He asked, narrowing his eyes. 

"I see no harm in the match," Jaime said. "Mostly because it secures us the kingdoms. And Margaery might be a scheming bitch, but Orryn is Stannis' son, like it or not. He can appreciate a pretty face, which is more than his father at least, but he won't let himself be manipulated by it,"

"He's _five-and-ten._ Of course he will!"

"Look at his face, brother," Jaime stepped closer towards him, drink making her even more blunt than usual, as shown earlier in the evening. "Look at his hair. He is my son, the son of Stannis Baratheon, not you. You have no say in who he marries. I let you take Joffrey and ruin him even more than he was already broken. You won't do the same to Orryn,"

He sneered at that. 

"And how do you think your precious son will respond if he knew that you lie with your brother? That Joffrey and Myrcella are _my_ children. Will you have his support then? Or will he look at you with disgust and scorn?"

"You weren't looking at Myrcella tonight like she's your daughter," Jaime glared. "And don't make threats you won't keep. As if you'd tell anyone about us, and risk losing everything," She snorted. "Besides, I've never been ashamed of loving you, only of the things I've done to hide it. That boy at Winterfell..."

"Did you stop me throwing him out the window? I don't believe so. If you'd not begged me not to go hunting, nothing would have happened. But no, you had to have me inside you, you could not wait until we returned to the city,"

"I'd waited long enough. I put up with Robert's wandering hands that entire journey, all under Ashara's nose of course," Jaime suddenly remembered something else that troubled her about Winterfell. "At Riverrun, Catelyn Stark seemed convinced I'd sent some footpad to slit her son's throat. That I'd given him a dagger,"

_* guesses Joffrey sent Bran's assassin *_

"Joffrey had no love for Robb Stark, but the younger boy was nothing to him," Cersen frowned. "He was only a child _himself,_ " 

"A child hungry for a pat on the head from that sot he believed was his uncle," 

"How can you say such dreadful things?" Cersen accused. "About your own dead son! If you had seen how Joff died... he _fought_ , Jaime, he fought for every breath, with such terror in his eyes... Do you remember when he was little, he'd run to you when he was scared or hurt? But that night you weren't there. Tyrion murdered him in front of me, and there was nothing I could do," 

It was like Tyrion had never been declared innocent in front of the whole court by the king himself, with plausible evidence to back that up. Cersen's eyes were angry, passionate as he looked down at her, appealing to her strongest instincts. Jaime saw what he was doing, and disliked it. By this point he was close enough to reach out and touch her cheek. 

"Joff is dead, Jaime. I can't protect your second son if he's too ignorant to see that I must be by his side. If you just talk to Father - "

"What do you think I can do that you can't?" She stepped back. "You're Father's heir, I'm his halfwitted whore of a daughter who he made regent to be his puppet. Even if I _wanted_ to talk to him to persuade him to give you the regency, he would not listen,"

"You're his favourite," Her brother scowled. "He never had any expectations for you apart from smile prettily and spread your legs for whichever oaf he married you to. A duty you clear did admirably, if six children by Stannis is anything to go on. Which is why, if you sweeten him up by pretending to be compliant in this marriage scheme of his..." Gods, he didn't know.

"Remember another brilliant scheme of yours, to get me to become a septa, so we would be together forever?" She said instead. "Remember how well that turned out?" Perhaps it made her a coward for not telling him now, but honestly all she wanted to do was sleep. The last thing she wanted was to deal with _that_ tantrum now. She could already hear his words; _'whoring yourself out to get the regency, you used to have more pride than that Jaime, how could you stoop so low?'._

Her brother's features clouded in anger. 

"Jaime, use that thick head of yours. Father is taking your son away from you as much as he is taking power and authority away from me,"

"Are you delusional?"

"Why are you so against this? You know I won't really let him marry you off again. I want no other man in your bed, ever again," His voice had risen, and he reached out to seize both her wrists.

"Quiet," She said sharply. "You'll make guards come running," She tried to pull away, but his hold was firm.

"Jaime," He snapped in a warning tone, gripping even tighter. "Don't pretend you don't want me. I want you at my side, I want you in my bed, I want to be inside you. Nothing has changed between us. Let me prove it to you," He kissed her, hard and fast, one hand tangling in her hair while the other drew her to him. Where her knees would've once gone soft, as she melted into his arms, this time Jaime tried to draw back.

"No," She said. "Not here. Not now," Even if her children hadn't been sleeping across the hall, which was guarded as well, most of her did not desire him as she once had, and wasn't sure she ever would. It would be easy to fall back into old comfortable habits, but she couldn't, not after all he'd done. 

_This is the man that killed my husband_ , it suddenly hit her, full force. _He killed two of my best friend's children, which led to her suicide_. _He enabled Joff's reign of terror, a second mad king, let him kill Ned Stark and tear the kingdoms apart. He'd have rejoiced to see Tyrion's head on a spike, and did his best to ensure that happened._

"I took you in the sept. This is no different," _Was that the last time?_ His hand went to her skirts, beginning to gather them up, whilst the other tangled in her hair. 

"No. Not here, I said. Get off me," Jaime once again tried to push back, but his grip in her hair tightened, and his other hand, now on her backside, squeezed painfully.

For an instant she could see confusion in his bright green eyes, and a flash of fear as well. Then rage replaced it. He did not let her go, and his lip curled as he stared down at her, forcing her to look back up at him by pulling on her hair, other hand holding her struggling wrists.

"Did they mutilate your cunt as well as your teats at Harrenhal?" He hissed. "Time was all I had to do was look at you and your legs would fall open,"

"How do you know about that?" She demanded, blood running cold as she realised her padding had long since fallen away; he hadn't mentioned it, saving it up to make it hurt the most, which meant someone had told him beforehand.

"Father assumed I already knew," He sneered. "He mentioned an injury you had sustained on your return home, and it only took a bit of subtle questioning amongst your maids for me to find out the truth. Were you ashamed to tell me, sister? Trying to hide the fact you're no longer a whole woman?" 

With he ripped her chemise down the front, exposing what was left of her chest. Though considerably better than it had been at Harrenhal after Qyburn's continued care, the wound was far from healed, and far from nice to look at. The look of amused disgust on her brother's face was everything she had dreaded and more.

"What else did the men who did this do?" Cersen said cruelly. "I doubt they left it at that. Is all this your attempt at driving me away, so I don't discover your shame, that you've been used by two dozen men?" He didn't really believe that, she knew, or he wouldn't be trying to fuck her now. He said it only to hurt her.

Her brother smirked at her silence. She was silent out of sheer disbelief alone, unable to comprehend how he could be so self-centred, how _awful_ , and how she had taken so long to realise it. Also silent because she suspected she'd slap him the moment she allowed herself to move.

"But what else do you have but me, Jaime, especially after this?" He continued. "Don't pretend you don't long for me still,"

"I long for the brother I loved years ago," She spoke, finally, the rage winning out over numb shock. "Whatever you've become, you're hardly my other half anymore,"

" _You_ have the nerve to say that?" He snapped then, anger flashing in his eyes. "After your usurped my position, for responsibilities you've always hated, just to save that twisted little creature you call family?" Cersen's lip curled in malice. "Not to mention that you're hardly the beauty you once were. The Light of the West, old, haggard and mutilated,"

"Perhaps," She didn't deny it. "Yet I still have the title and influence you long for. And I didn't even particularly work for it. What does that tell you?" She made herself smile.

Jaime knew that would anger him, and she was right. The slap came fast, as sharp as her smile, hitting her across the cheek. It stung, though not as much as his words had. After a few moments of staring at each other, both rather surprised, she snapped out of her stunned shock and used the fact he'd let go of her hair to wrestle away from him, jumping back out of reach. 

"Never touch me like that again, brother," She was breathing heavily, angrily. "Get out, now," To hurry him along, she marched over to the door, knowing he wouldn't want the guards in the hallway hearing anything of their conversation, or knowing he was here at all. Yet before she could get there, she felt two hands grab her waist roughly. "Cersen, let go," Jaime hissed. "Get your hands off me,"

"Not until I can make you listen," 

At that ominous declaration, she grabbed both his wrists and tried to shove his hands off her. But as much as she was the better fighter, she lacked a sword, and her brother had over half a foot on her. He managed to manhandle her halfway across the room, even as she struggled furiously, cursing him the whole way. Then he worked out that putting too much pressure on her still-healing wound had her doubling over in pain, stifling a scream. Even the Brave Companions had learned not to do that.

"What's got into you, Jaime?" Cersen panted, throwing her face down on the bed. Before she could do anything more than turn onto her back, intending to roll onto the floor, he was on top of her, between her legs, forcing them open as another arm held her down.

Suddenly Jaime wasn't in her chambers in the Red Keep anymore, staring up at the dark ceiling as the single candle flickered. The smells of the forest surrounded her, the earth cold and damp at her back, sharp stones digging in, wet leaves in her hair, the stench of blood, unwashed clothes and her own rotting flesh in the air, crude taunts in her ears, and hands all over her, horrible grabbing tearing _hands_. She couldn't move, couldn't make a sound, or they'd take her eyes, knock her teeth out, break her fingers one by one, saw off a hand or a foot and make her eat it, force Brien to join in just for a cheap laugh. Gods, they were already making the boy _watch_.

The feelings of that night all came back in an instant; pain, humiliation and raw, unadulterated terror. For the second time since escaping Edmure Tully's dungeon, she did what she couldn't have done that night in the forest. Jaime screamed. 

Cersen quickly clapped a hand over her mouth, but she bit it, hard, and it was his turn to shout as blood splashed onto her face and chest. Taking advantage of his distraction, she yanked her arms out from his grip and lashed out with a well-aimed fist, catching his jaw hard enough to snap his head back.

She regretted her scream as soon as she heard running footsteps outside, concerned voices. The door was flung open, to her horror, and her brother's. Cersen had never moved faster to get off her, still cursing and nursing his hand and face both. It was too late, however. The two figures at the door had already seen the entire scene. 

Tyrion, at least, had the sense to slam the door shut. Arthur, on the other hand, had never looked more like his father as his face clouded over in sheer fury, crossing the room in two strides towards his uncle.

"Stop," Jaime was forced to quickly gather herself and moved to intercept him, leaping in between him and her brother, unable to worry that she wasn't even dressed, that her chemise was ripped down the front. She had to physically hold her son back, keeping her voice low as Tyrion quickly assured the concerned guards outside, chuckling that yes, everything was fine, the Lady Regent had just seen a very large spider. "Arthur, _don't_ say a word, shut your mouth right now, step back, or you'll bring people running and _I'll lose my head_ ," 

Some of that seemed to register, as Arthur thankfully didn't yell, and she no longer had to to actively hold him back, though she didn't move from between him and Cersen regardless.

"You bastard," Her son's voice, thankfully as quiet as he was capable of being, was shaking with rage, looking at Cersen with the purest loathing. Cersen looked back at him with much the same expression, but Jaime saw the fear in his expression. _He doesn't know what to do_. Not that she did either. They had never been caught out so undeniably before, with so few options. "I'll kill you, you filthy, disgusting, lowlife - "

"How dare you speak to me like this, boy," Her brother hissed, drawing himself up as best he could whilst nursing his bitten hand and effectively using his sister as a shield. "Didn't your father teach you to respect your betters?"

"Clearly our father didn't teach you not to _rape your sister?"_ Tyrion had moved away from that door after shutting it with a click, looking dangerously cold, colder than Jaime had ever seen him. Cersen opened his mouth furiously, but Tyrion did perhaps the best thing he could've done to annoy him further, and turned away. "Jaime, here," He offered his cloak, which she quickly draped around herself, not particularly wanting any of the people in this room to see her bare chest. "You're covered in blood," He sounded concerned.

"That's Cersen's," She forced her voice to remain steady, unable to even fake her usual sharp smile, trying to ignore the wave of panic slowly rising inside her which she'd been able to suppress whilst she was distracted with Arthur. She hated being coddled at the best of times, let alone the impossibly awful situation that this had become. It was a mark of how bad it was that Cersen had shut up too; both Lannister twins lost for words was quite the occasion.

"I'm not surprised," Tyrion smiled weakly, moving closer to her. She narrowed her eyes, but didn't detect any sarcasm there. "Jaime, I know you hate being fussed over. I promise I'm not, but you've got a look in your eyes like a cornered animal. Come out of here, to Helia and Myrcella's chambers perhaps. You can't sleep here tonight, not after this," 

He shared a look with Arthur then, that implied she couldn't sleep here because it was soon to become the scene of a violent and bloody murder.

"No," Jaime's voice sharpened. "Do you think I'd truly believe you'd keep this quiet?" She glanced at her son, then turned to her elder brother. "And do you think I'd believe you'd just let them walk off having seen that?" She laughed bitterly. "Let me tell you now brother, if one hair on their heads is harmed - if Tyrion or any of my children suddenly gets sick, or suffer a mysterious fall down the staircase, anything at all - I promise I will slit your throat myself,"

"Jaime - " Cersen started, as Tyrion laughed darkly. As horrible as he found the situation, she got the sense he was enjoying seeing her turn on her twin after so long.

"No," She turned to face him. "I don't care if Father sends me to a Motherhouse in disgrace or locks me up for killing his golden heir - if you touch my children, you will die, Cersen,"

"You'd have them spill our secrets across the whole court?" Her brother's eyes narrowed. "The Imp has always longed for a chance to bring me down, to make him heir to the Rock, and he's just been handed the key to make that happen," Tyrion scoffed but he continued. "Jaime, we could die for less," 

Jaime was silent for a moment, then turned to her younger brother. She could practically see his mind working away. Like her, he knew that Arthur would never be able to keep this quiet, and Cersen would not risk anything getting out. Let alone the fact that their brother had likely suspected for years, and had his suspicions confirmed by Ned Stark last year. Tyrion was on her side, Tyrion would think of something, he could weasel his way out of any bad situation. _But can he weasel me out of this too?_ Or would she have to do it herself?

"How many of my personal guards are in the hallway?"

"You need men loyal only to you, not House Lannister?" Tyrion tilted his head, considering her. "Two, I think. I was in a hurry. But I can send for some of my sellswords," 

"Have my men guard this door," Jaime nodded, already starting to usher her son towards the door. "Tell them Lord Cersen is disturbed in the mind, after eating a bad oyster at the feast, and must not be let out under any circumstance, for his own safety. The Lady Regent commands it," She realised as she said that that it was probably best not to hint at the true cause of Stannis' death in front of Arthur, but thankfully it went right over his head. Tyrion smiled rather wickedly. 

"With pleasure,"

"Arthur, come on," She said sharply as her little brother left. Grudgingly, her son left with her, tearing his eyes away from glaring daggers at his uncle. Cersen was protesting, angrily, cursing her, saying foul things, attempting to leave, but she slammed the door shut in his face, locking it in time for the guards to arrive with Tyrion.

She didn't go to her daughter's room, not wanting to wake them, nor see her like this. Jaime ended up sat in Tyrion's chambers, still wrapped in the borrowed cloak as she sat with her little brother around the dying fire. 

Arthur had offered to fetch a maid to bring her one of Helia's dresses for her, or even one of his own shirts, but she had refused. Despite wishing he wasn't present for this conversation, she did not want to risk letting him out of her sight, knowing he would just run to Orryn immediately. Her son was currently sat as far away from them as possible, by the window, so they could talk in low voices without him hearing much.

"You've got to be joking," She shot Tyrion an unimpressed look. "You want me to stand before _Tywin Lannister_ and tell him that his golden heir was caught trying to force himself on his twin sister," She shook his head. "He wouldn't believe it. Even if he did, I'd rather die than admit as such to anyone, especially to him,"

"He wouldn't believe it from me," Her brother said. "Nor from any of your children. It's well known we all hate him. But _you?_ You're the only one Father would listen to," He sighed. "Likely he's looking for a chance to send Cersen back west anyway. He's doing no good here, stirring up trouble with his ridiculous paranoia about everyone and everything. There's no chance he's coming to Riverrun either, that would be as good as ripping the treaty in half. Father would much rather his heir be in the west, learning to rule at Casterly Rock. Given he's been lurking round King's Landing since the rebellion, Cersen's sixteen year old son knows the west better than he does,"

"He _was_ Master of Laws until Robert died,"

"Why do you keep defending him?" Tyrion's lip curled. "Jaime, he tried to _rape_ you,"

Arthur clearly heard that, as a mumbled burst of imaginative swearing came from over by the window.

"Thank you, brother," She raised an eyebrow, her tone bone dry. "I wasn't aware of that fact until you enlightened me so," Her brother opened his mouth, then closed it again, taking a breath. 

"Look at it this way," He said in a voice of forced calm. "We can't leave Cersen locked in that room forever. Realistically, we've got until morning. Arthur is also not going to stay quiet forever. No matter what we say to him, it's only a matter of time before he goes to Orryn, who _will_ go to Father, likely with an execution warrant in hand," Tyrion lowered his voice. "Not to mention the fact that Cersen is likely plotting the deaths of both Arthur and myself as we speak. Remind me, what happened to the last child to see the two of you together?"

Jaime glared at him, saying nothing. Tyrion continued.

"You need Father's support to send Cersen away," He said. "He won't just leave if you tell him to, we both know that," 

"I'll talk to Father," She agreed. "But I'm not breathing a word of anything me and Cersen may or may not have done together. If he doesn't know the truth by now, he won't ever believe it," and her skin crawled at the thought of discussing such matters with him. "I'll tell him how I believe Cersen is undermining the Tyrell alliance, and is an unnecessary distraction for Orryn. I won't tell him to send Cersen west, because he won't want to take advice from his daughter. Let him come to that solution on his own,"

"An excellent plan, if we had more than a few hours," Her brother sighed. "Father doesn't make decisions like that on a whim. And you know Cersen, when he's desperate enough, will decide to silence your son in the blink of an eye,"

"I meant what I said," She stared into the embers of the dying fire. "If he lays a hand on my children, I'll kill him," She smiled wryly. "It would be easy enough. Pretend I don't know he did it, pretend to need him in my time of grief, let him comfort me, forgive him, tell him how sorry and foolish I was. Then slip a dagger between his ribs as he holds me,"

"I like that plan," Arthur had clearly stopped pretending he couldn't hear them. 

"Are you both missing the fact it involves you dying?" Tyrion raised an incredulous eyebrow. "And probably me as well," That was the fatal flaw, wasn't it. 

Jaime sank back into her chair, tired, examining the fresh bruises blooming on her arms and wrists. She could feel the ones on her legs too, her thighs and waist. Not to mention her chest wound burned unpleasantly from how he'd been prodding it. 

"We can't go and see him now," She said finally, realising she'd have to accept the inevitable, highly unpleasant solution. "It's the middle of the night, and I'm not even dressed,"

"Sorry to say, but that probably makes it more convincing," Tyrion grimaced, holding up his hands apologetically when she arched an eyebrow. "You know Father and his ability to deny anything he sees no proof for. If the three of us show up now, angry and shaken, you covered in fresh bruises in ripped clothes, he can hardly deny what's right in front of him,"

"I'm not walking through the castle in my undergarments," Jaime said flatly. "Arthur?" Her son's head snapped up. "If I tell you we're going to get your uncle sent back to Casterly Rock, will you be able to refrain from interrupting your brother's wedding night if I ask you to run and fetch me the biggest cloak you own?" Tyrion's, whilst thoughtfully given, was not big enough to hide her bare ankles and arms. "And the smallest pair of shoes,"

"I won't," He said begrudgingly. Within five minutes he was back, carrying a pair of boots he likely hadn't worn in two years and an ugly hunting cloak in dark green. "It was Uncle Renly's," He said. "I borrowed it, before he left," Jaime said nothing, wrapping the dead man's cloak around herself, grateful that it hid every inch of her and then some.

"Put the hood up," Tyrion said darkly. "Your neck's bruised," Of course.

Jaime's stomach twisted in knots as the three of them left Maegor's Holdfast, refusing the offer of the guards to accompany them. Her father's men admitted her at once when they saw who it was, not questioning the lateness of the visit; or rather the earliness, given it was much closer to dawn than midnight now. 

Every step up the Tower of the Hand was worse than the one before, though even she likely wasn't near as nervous as the poor man sent to wake her father up at their request. She sat in between Tyrion and Arthur as they waited in the Hand's solar, likely only for a few minutes, though it felt like hours.

"Why have you come at this hour?" Her father was fully dressed when he came through the door, though clearly rather hurriedly. The idea of him greeting them in his nightshirt was absurd. Arthur opened his mouth but Jaime shot him a sharp look, which caught her father's eye as he moved to stand behind the desk. "Jaime, take off that ridiculous cloak. It's hardly cold in here,"

"I - " She broke off, then shook her head, just lowering the hood. Her father's eyes fell to the bruises on her neck immediately. 

"How did you get those?" His tone sharpened. There was a heavy silence. Both Tyrion and Arthur looked to her. Lord Tywin looked impatient. "Well?"

"Just show him, Mother," Arthur burst out angrily. "Let him see what that bastard did," Jaime closed her eyes briefly, then opened them. How was it that she relished in the blood and chaos of a battle - one they were losing, no less - but dreaded to stand before her own father?

Slowly, carefully, she slid the cloak down her shoulders. The bruises on her skin were vivid already, unmistakably made by rough hands, not to mention the fact that she wasn't even dressed, her undergarments ripped, though she held the material together at the front. A glance at her father showed she had rarely seen him more furious. 

"What are you trying to say?" His voice was cold, steely. "Are you suggesting someone simply manhandled you, or something more grave?" Either one would mean death for most men that did such a thing; it just depended how painfully.

"Are you going to make me say it?" Jaime smiled in a weak attempt at a rueful grin. His stony silence told her everything she needed to know. "Alright. Yes, I was _manhandled_ ,"

"Manhandled?" Arthur furiously spoke. "That wasn't _manhandling_. I know what I saw, he was trying to _rape_ you. He would've done, if we hadn't got in," He turned to her father. "Why make her say it? It's obvious! The late hour, the bruises, the fact she's hardly wearing anything under that cloak, do you really need it spelling out?" 

Her son was lucky that what he had said sufficiently overshadowed his impertinence. There was a heavy silence after his words. Lord Tywin wore an expression that was truly frightening.

"Who?" Her father's low voice said. "If they're not dead already, I'll have them hung, drawn and quartered," Another silence, which Tyrion broke. 

"Now we've hit the little snag," He said, choosing his words very carefully. "I'm not so sure you'll want to do that, Father," Jaime was glad he'd managed to keep any trace of amusement out of his tone.

"Was it a Tyrell man?" Lord Tywin asked, eyes narrowed. "Because regardless, that level of disrespect to the House of Lannister cannot go unpunished," 

"Not a Tyrell, no," Tyrion said. Another uneasy silence. 

"What is the matter with the lot of you?" Lord Tywin demanded, impatient. "Give me a name and I will see them dead for it,"

"You won't believe me when I tell you," Jaime spoke. 

"And why is that?" Her father asked dryly. _Gods, this is awful_.

"Before I give you a name," She said. "Tell me you believe that something happened. That someone did try to - " She broke off.

"Enough theatrics, Jaime. Tell me what man did this, and you can choose how he dies," That was as good as she was going to get. She sat back down, pulling the cloak back over herself. 

"He was already in my chambers when I got back from the feast," She said. "Waiting,"

"That's where we found them," Tyrion quickly added to back her up, and Arthur nodded in agreement.

"I'll have the guards in Maegor's flogged," Her father glowered. 

"They weren't lax, Father," She smiled weakly. "No doubt they let him in without any bother. After all," She took a breath. "Why would they suspect my own blood would lay a hand on me?"

Another awful silence. 

"Do you mean to tell me that a _Lannister_ attacked you?" Her father said, clearly going through a mental list of all their family members in the city. Himself, Tyrion, Kevan, Lancel, Cersen. "You must be mistaken, unless you mean to tell me you couldn't fight off Kevan's fool of a son," Ordinarily she would have been rather amused, not only that Lord Tywin recognised that she had some martial skill, but also that he considered Lancel the only one capable of attempting such an act. Now though, she only felt resigned.

"And _this_ is why I knew this would be hopeless," She sat back in her chair, glancing at Tyrion. "I'll just go in there and talk to him, get him to leave myself,"

"You're not going in there again!" Her brother exclaimed, turning to Lord Tywin with a sickly smile. "For context, Father, Jaime is asking to go back into her chambers where her attacker is currently locked up, alone, and hopes he'll leave the city without any pressure from you if she asks nicely enough,"

"Don't be so foolish," Her father glared at her. "Why is this man still in your chambers, and not a cell?" She laughed then, having had enough of... this. Of him.

"We thought of you, Father," She said mockingly. "It would hardly help those ugly rumours you've been trying so desperately to quell, if your own son and heir was dragged off his struggling sister by guardsmen and thrown in the dungeons," 

It felt so wrong confessing now, after a lifetime of secrecy. Jaime saw the extent of that night's events hit the man, then. It wasn't satisfying to watch in any way. The worst silence yet followed.

"Impossible," She couldn't tell if he was angry, disturbed, shocked, couldn't tell anything at all. His voice and face were blank. She would have preferred anger, anything but this cold denial.

"No, I saw it myself, I - "

"Arthur," Jaime shot her son a warning look, and he begrudgingly sat down, but glared at her father even as she turned to the man herself, leaning back in her chair in an attempt at carelessness. "I can't say I expected anything else," She smiled humourlessly. "There's only one way you'll believe me. Come to my chambers, now, and listen at the door after I go in. You'll hear enough to make your ears shrivel up with shame, and mine too, though at least then you might believe that I didn't come here just for the joy of this delightful conversation, in front of both you and my own son,"

"Ideally before either Arthur or myself has to die in a mysterious accident," Tyrion added darkly. "He's good at those. What do you think happened to Prince Lyonel? Baelish tipped Cersen off that the prince was competing - likely having talked the boy into it himself - and all our dear brother had to do was give the Mountain his instructions. I heard all that from Varys, and half from Cersen himself," Even Jaime hadn't heard all that, though her twin had all but confirmed it without using words.

"Father," She looked him right in the eye. "If neither of them had seen, believe me, you would never have heard a word of this matter,"

"You, boy," Their father spoke sharply, abruptly turning to Arthur. "Tell me exactly what you saw tonight, that leads you to believe my son would commit such a - an act," Good choice on his part, to pick the only one in the room incapable of lying.

"I was walking past with Tyrion," Her son said, thankfully calmer than he'd been all night now he had a chance to explain. "We heard a scream, from Mother's room, so ran to the door. It was dark, but there was a candle, we could still see - " He broke off, swallowing. Jaime looked away, feeling rather sick, at what her son would have seen and at the fact he was having to recount it to her stony-faced father. "It was definitely him, though," Arthur said more strongly. "Cersen. We spoke to him,"

"Thank the gods we were the first ones through the door," Tyrion said darkly. "Any guard would have seen Cersen wrestling his sister onto her back, clamping his hand on her mouth as he tried to force her legs apart. There was no doubt about what he was trying to do," _Thank you, brother, for filling in those gaps in our imaginations_. Her jaw clenched. There was a pause, then her father spoke.

"And did anyone else - " For once it was Lord Tywin that hesitated at Jaime's sudden vicious glare, a mark of how caught off guard by this he was. 

"No one else saw," She cut in shortly. "I believe Tyrion told them I'd seen a big spider to explain the scream. Meanwhile I was trying to stop Cersen and Arthur murdering each other, or at least to make it quiet. I told the guards Cersen wasn't in his right mind, had eaten a bad oyster, to not let him out until we return. It wasn't the best lie. He might be out by now, in which case there'll likely be assassins waiting for Tyrion in his chambers when he returns. Arthur too,"

Another silence. Each one was worse than the one before. 

"And what would you have me do?" Lord Tywin asked evenly. "Name my own son and heir a raper before the court? Send him to the Wall? Execute him?" There was the hint of a sneer there. Jaime had had enough of those for one night. 

"I hardly want him dead," She said, gathering the cloak more tightly around herself. "He's my brother. But he's not doing anything here but antagonising the Tyrell alliance, so send him west. He can play at being lord and get in the way of his wife and children instead of me and mine," Lysa would hardly thank her for that but truly Jaime couldn't care less. "And, if it helps - he is less than pleased with the Stark treaty. No doubt he's plotting something to ruin any talks of peace, trying to undermine Orryn now it's not his favourite nephew on the throne,"

"And we can't have that," Tyrion smiled humourlessly. Once again, their father was silent.

*

"Perhaps that was what settled it," She recounted to Brien, lying against his chest and idly fiddling with the buttons on his jerkin. "I wasn't expecting anything to happen after he sent us away, not truly. But Father summoned Cersen to speak with him this morning. Gods only know what was said then, but he's leaving for Casterly Rock tomorrow,"

Jaime didn't particularly care much about what her father and brother had talked about. Tyrion certainly did, bemoaning how much he longed to be a fly on the wall for that conversation, but so long as her twin left without killing any of her children, Jaime was satisfied. 

All the had court got was a nonchalant announcement that Lord Cersen was returning to oversee the recovery of the Westerlands after the war, and that was that. Nice and quiet, nothing suspicious at all, for once no whispers or rumours. She doubted even Orryn knew the truth, which she was glad for. It was bad enough having the excruciating memory of Arthur bursting in to see Cersen on top of her stuck in her head every time she saw the boy.

"He deserves the Wall," Brien grumbled, shifting slightly on his bed. "That's where all the rapers are sent. Not to rule over the richest castle in Westeros," Jaime had sparred a lot with the young knight these past days, and spent some hours in his sleeping cell as well, though nothing especially untoward had actually gone on. Well, nothing that involved actually removing her clothes at any rate. "Jaime, I'm sorry I wasn't there,"

"If you apologise for that one more time I might just stab you myself," She looked up at him where her head rested on his chest. "It doesn't matter that you weren't there. In fact, I'd rather you didn't see that. And besides, it wasn't like he got around to doing any actual raping,"

"How can you be so... uncaring about it?" The question wasn't accusing, just curious.

"It's hardly the first time he's been so forceful," She shrugged. "Only before when we'd argue, he'd try it and I'd give in happily. Much rather be fucking than fighting. This time I just happened not to. I can't hate him for that, it's how things always were," She smiled then. "I _can_ hate him for the things he said that night, for the people he's killed and the fact that my little brother and son had to see it,"

Brien's expression told her he didn't entirely agree with her reasons for not hating Cersen for that specific offence, but he didn't say a word against it, just nodded thoughtfully. 

The next day, Jaime was the only one of the family to see her brother off, although she thought she fleetingly saw Arthur at one of the windows, likely making sure he was actually gone. These kind of expeditions normally left at dawn, but her brother hated getting up early, so now it was midday. 

She watched him go and found it remarkable how little she cared. Jaime used to embrace him in the courtyard whenever they were to be apart for any amount of time, but now a sharp smile and cold look more than sufficed, even though she got nothing but a filthy look in return.

Perhaps it was also unwise - no, it definitely was - but that night she found herself sneaking out of her own room and slipping through the corridors and staircases, until she reached the cell Brien slept in. She had been here before, of course, but never this late. There were few guards in this part of the castle, given they had no important guests in residence, and so she was able to knock three time on the door.

It was less than a second before she heard movement, and a few more before the door opened a crack. His broad, suspicious face peered at her, then blue eyes widened in recognition. 

"Jaime?"

"Hasn't anyone ever told you it's rude to keep a lady waiting on the threshold," She swept past him without invitation, into the small, basic but clean room, letting the hood of her cloak fall down as she did so, revealing her loose golden hair. It was longer now, almost touching her shoulders, and even curlier at this length, resembling a mane more than ever. 

"What are you here?" Brien shut the door with a click, eyeing her with some trepidation, but also the longing he wasn't so good at hiding. He wore a nightshirt and plain breeches, whilst she had never got ready for bed, still wearing the emerald green gown she'd put on that morning. 

"I thought it would be obvious?" She raised an eyebrow. "Have I scared you off? Because I can leave if you'd rather..." She reached out for the door handle, but Brien's hand reached out to grab her wrist, stopping her. Jaime smirked then, at his meaning and flushed expression both. "Does that mean you'd like me to stay?"

"Yes," He swallowed. "That is - if you're not..." He trailed off, but she got what he was trying to say. 

"I've been dealing with Cersen my whole life," She said flatly. "And he's gone now, besides. I won't let him stop me from enjoying myself. As for my reputation, by this point I care little for what others think of me. Lying with a man over ten years my junior is hardly the worst taboo I've ignored,"

"But I - I don't know what to do,"

"Like I said, you can't do worse than my wedding night," She laughed, then. "I believe Stannis actually said something along the lines of 'lets get it over with', then proceeded to glare at me the entire time. Rather off-putting, I tell you," 

He smiled then, albeit weakly. Jaime took the chance to kiss him, standing on her tiptoes and pulling the back of his head down. Thankfully he got the hint, returning the kiss hesitantly at first, but responding when she deepened it. Without breaking the kiss, she moved his hands from hanging at his sides, one to her waist, the other to the back of her neck. 

She didn't know how much time passed before she drew back slightly. It had been so long since Jaime had taken so much time with things. Her trysts with Cersen were always secret and hurried, and Stannis was hardly one for lingering kisses.

"Now for the hardest part," She murmured. "Undoing the damned laces on my dress. They're on the back, so I'm afraid you'll have to help," 

Surprisingly, he wasn't half bad at it. Nor was he half bad at anything else, especially with a little instruction.

After, they both lay on his bed, limbs tangled together, her head resting on his shoulder. She had long since lost her clothes, of course, and so her wound was on full display. It looked hideous, but he'd seen it far worse.

"Did you know," Jaime started, idly tracing circles on his chest. "You're bigger than Robert Baratheon," She tilted her head up to smirk at him, but he must have been too exhausted to flush because he just let out a breath of laughter.

"Funnily enough no, I did not,"

"Well, now you know," Her smirk turned to a grin. "What do people even do after a fuck when they don't have to leave?" For obvious reasons, Cersen had never been able to stay for long, and Stannis had either left or gone straight to sleep, not one for talking.

"I think you're asking the wrong person, my lady," He said, and she laughed. 

"Perhaps," Jaime propped herself up on an elbow. "I suppose at least now you can tell all your knightly friends they can't laugh at you for being a maid any longer,"

"And what do I say when they ask who it was?"

"Some whore," She shrugged. He shook his head with a faint smile. 

"I don't think so,"

"Well you can tell them it was the king's mother if you like, ser, but they might laugh in your face," She said, amused. "And one of my sons might overhear and be rather displeased. Not that you couldn't beat them in a fight. In fact, do say that in front of Arthur - he could do with having a few corners knocked off,"

"His face and manner is rather similar to yours, my lady,"

"Don't let that hold you back,"

"I was going to say it would make it easier," She raised an eyebrow at that, grinning even as she poked him hard in the ribs. "Ouch!" He grabbed her wrist, so she used the other to poke him again, and he grabbed that as well, sitting up to avoid her elbows. Of course, she somehow ended up straddling his lap in an attempt to get her hands free, and one thing led to another.

Jaime was amazed by how _easy_ this was. She knew that he would likely leave with the Starks after the wedding at Riverrun provided everything went to plan - and she wasn't even going to try persuading him not to, it would be a lost cause and more than a little pathetic besides - and that her betrothal to Oberyn Martell was likely to be announced some time after that. But for now, Brien was who she came to after another deathly dull day of council meetings, who she came to when she was sick of her family, her escape and comfort in the madness of the court.

She wouldn't think about what it would be like after the wedding. Leaving Helia at Riverrun, letting Brien go to Winterfell, and stuck with a husband she didn't want. There was little and less Jaime could do about either of those things, so she would just enjoy the time she had.

Besides, once Lady Sansa turned sixteen she would be returning south to marry Arthur. It only made sense that her mother's sworn shield accompanied her. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like I said before, sorry for the changes after I published those chapters! Either way, I hope you liked this update. Finally some JaimexBrien, Orryn and Margaery's wedding and lots of Cersen drama. That conversation with Tywin was very hard to write, trying to work out how they could convince him of something he's been wilfully refusing to believe for years. I was also considering not including the attempted rape scene - given what Jaime's gone through already it felt like a bit much - but I think it was necessary to give her the kick she needed to get rid of him; obviously not saying she needed an attempted rape, I mean that more about what he said to her beforehand, and the threat he posed to Tyrion and Arthur.
> 
> Thanks to everyone who reads and comments/reviews!


	14. Lady Mother

It was a month after the royal wedding that the king bid his young bride goodbye and rode off to a wedding, and then to war. 

Of course, he hardly went alone. Accompanying Orryn was a large portion of the Baratheon army and a smaller number of the Tyrell forces - leaving the Lannister and remaining Tyrell men holding King's Landing, with Lord Tywin in charge - and all the baggage and wagons and camp followers that came with a force that large. 

Considering they were entering what had been enemy territory until not so long ago, Orryn was also bringing along rather a lot of his own relatives. Uncle Kevan was there to advise the young king on battle strategy and act as Lord Tywin's representative, along with a few lords the Westerlands. The queen's brother Garlan was there to represent the Reach, whilst the king's brother Arthur was there for the Stormlands along with several of its lords too, and his sister Helia was there to be given as a hostage - _wife_ \- to Edmure Tully. 

And Jaime, the king's mother, was there to, well... she wasn't quite sure what her official role was. _To strain negotiations? To gloat? To threaten Tully if he ever looks at my daughter the wrong way?_ Because those things would undoubtedly happen. _To fulfil an oath made at sword point whilst dead-drunk?_ She was to do that as well. 

Though her mood worsened with each day they drew closer to Riverrun - where she would give away Helia and bid farewell to Brien - she tried to keep her spirits up thinking of the shocked look on Lady Catelyn's face when she rode into that castle with the woman's daughter beside her, Sansa's marriage to Tyrion newly annulled, just as promised. 

Brien had got what he'd always wanted, doing his duty to his precious Lady Stark and even having the honour of escorting Sansa home. As Lady Catelyn's sworn shield, he would be returning to Winterfell after it was won back from the Ironborn, and after that, who knew. He didn't seem as thrilled as she had imagined he would be at the prospect, showing he was not quite the idealistic boy she had met months ago. 

He was clearly not enjoying the idea of her upcoming marriage, which had yet to be announced, and scowled whenever Prince Oberyn's name came up in conversation. That amused her mostly because she knew it wasn't even jealousy, just anger at the fact she had no choice in the matter. Admittedly Jaime wasn't exactly enthused by the match, though as she had said before, being Oberyn Martell's wife would not be the worst thing in the world, if only because he'd leave her be.

Normally a royal march would be hosted at every castle they came across, but in such circumstances as these, each keep was held by a very wary garrison whilst their lords and soldiers gathered at Riverrun. Thus, they bypassed every stronghold by quite a way, though after being appalled at the first burnt-out village they saw, Orryn made sure they went through as many smallfolk settlements as possible, distributing food and supplies where needed, dealing with any bandits nearby and holding audiences with the smallfolk themselves to hear their complaints. 

Helia even joined in with these at times, rather resignedly saying that as she was to be the new Lady of Riverrun, she should at least attempt to gain the favour of its people. She didn't quite have the patience and knack for convincingly listening that her brother did, but managed to get a few smiles out of some of the women for her sharp tongue, irreverence and direct, no nonsense attitude.

Her son was being overly generous, Jaime knew that, and her father would not approve of the king pandering to the smallfolk so, but she couldn't help but be glad for it. When they first entered villages, they tended to be met with dark, hollow-eyed stares of fear, suspicion and hate, particularly towards the few troops wearing Lannister red. Those expressions weren't quite gone by the time they left, but she saw the look in the eyes of many a tired commoner, that peace might come at last, and hoped they would not hate Orryn as they had hated Joffrey. 

At least this king was showing them his face, and looked the part, clearly Baratheon, strong and serious when necessary, like his father had been, but charismatic and a good speaker like Robert was, good at making friends. Orryn was young and would soon learn he couldn't please everyone, but at least he tried, which was far more than could be said for Joffrey.

Of course, the few smiles and tentative nods of approval her children were met with did not extend to Jaime. Everyone knew the Kingslayer, rumoured to be the whore of Aerys, Rhaegar, Arthur Dayne, Robert, her own brother and gods know how many more; the list seemed to grow every day. But now the whispers also included her escape from Riverrun. 

"I heard she slew a dozen men," She heard someone in a gaggle of farmer's wives saying as she rode past. "Then laughed as she escaped from the castle dripping in blood," 

"Barely over half a dozen, actually," She couldn't help but call out to them. All four women looked up, wide eyed and rather panicked, clearly not expecting her to have overheard. "And that was at the Whispering Wood. No one died the night I escaped, given I was dead-drunk at the time. If you're going to gossip, at least get it right,"

"Mother," Helia looked back at her with a grin as all the woman bleated their 'sorry milady's, bobbing clumsy curtsies and eyeing both her and Brien warily. "You complain about your reputation, but you don't exactly try and live it down,"

"They'll believe it no matter what I do," She shrugged. "I might as well get some amusement out of it," Her daughter shook her head, as Sansa Stark hid a smile, both girls turning back around. 

In the evenings when they made camp, Jaime amused herself further by teaching Helia how to use a dagger, just in case. The girl didn't seem to take her lessons too seriously - nor did Arthur, laughing from the sidelines at his sister - but was learning, at least, and there wasn't much else to do when they stopped for the night given someone definitely would've noticed her and Brien sneaking off together. Even better, when Lady Sansa came across them one day and showed an interest, Jaime was only too happy to oblige.

"Just make sure you show your mother what you've learnt," She said. "And tell her who taught you," The girl just smiled faintly and shook her head. 

"She would never understand why I wanted to learn. Had to learn," That was probably right. Lady Catelyn had never been a hostage, after all. Jaime had never exactly apologised for Joffrey's mistreatment of the girl, though had made it clear enough without actually voicing the words that she would have stopped it, had she been there.

Unlike Jaime, the nearer they got to Riverrun, the happier Sansa seemed to be, as though she was only now letting herself dare to believe she might actually be going home. Her and Helia were not the best of friends, though Jaime's daughter had a certain amount of affection for the younger girl. She hid it rather well with sarcastic comments every time Sansa said something foolish - which admittedly was a lot less frequent than when they had first met - though was plain to see from the rather protective way she glared at the men who looked at the girl the wrong way, and how they spent the days talking away as they rode beside each other. 

Considering they were to be betrothed, Arthur and Sansa did not spend nearly as much time together; Arthur was always off with the other young boys, racing horses, sparring and doing things they shouldn't. He seemed to forget he was Lord Baratheon, if he even cared in the first place. Jaime didn't begrudge him that. She would've been a hypocrite, for one, given she hadn't made the best Lady Baratheon herself. There was time to grow up later.

All the ladies on this journey rode horses, as no wheelhouse had been brought along for the sake of speed, and that such a display of luxury in a war-torn land could be a little provocative to the starving commoners. She was more than happy with this arrangement. Helia was rather indifferent, whilst Sansa clearly did not enjoy riding at all but did not utter a word of complaint. As the two young girls tended to ride together, that left Jaime riding beside Brien behind them. 

The weather turned foul when they were halfway through the Riverlands, torrential rain, chilly autumn winds and general misery. The whole column spent their days trudging along the muddy road, bemoaning the rain, soggy clothes and the fact they were forced to pitch their tents on the waterlogged ground every night. Jaime, however, was unconcerned.

"I don't know what they're complaining of," She remarked to Brien. "This journey is positively luxury,"

"How do you figure that?" Brien frowned. Everyone was cold, tired and soaked through.

"Well I get my own horse, for one," She grinned. "I don't have to suffer being tied backwards to you day after day. I get to sleep in a tent with a bedroll and a maid asking if I want a cup of wine, instead of being tied to a tree and beaten. And my chest doesn't constantly feel like its on fire," 

"True," He smiled. "And we get to eat actual meat and bread, rather than... whatever the Mummers fed us,"

"It doesn't bear thinking about," Jaime grimaced. "I had other things to focus on at the time, but whatever gruel they gave me was always suspiciously salty," It took him a few moments and a pointed look to figure out what that meant. When he did, she laughed at the look of pure revulsion on his face, and didn't ask whether his food had tasted the same as hers did.

She would have happily left the Bloody Mummers as not-so-fond memories, however that was not to be. Riding right in the middle of the party, Jaime had no idea as to why the column ground to a halt. Not until a messenger came galloping towards them, saying she was needed at the front. 

Leaving Brien with the girls, she rode back with the man, off the road into the thicket of trees, rather puzzled as to why she was needed here, a feeling that only increased when she saw the group of eight or so men gathered around something in a circle. 

Orryn and Ser Aredan were the only ones she recognised at a first glance, though it only took a split second for her eyes to fall on the two prisoners on their knees before the king. 

Jaime froze, stomach clenching unpleasantly. Any other occasion and she would delight to have these two at her mercy. _But not here, not now, and not in front of him_. She glanced at her son, trying to keep her expression neutral.

"Found these two raping some poor country lass at the side of the road, Your Grace," A grizzled captain in the vanguard - one of the few Lannister captains there - spat on the ground next to the two prisoners as he explained to Orryn. "Bold as brass, and not a scrap of remorse. We were just going to hang them and not bother you, sire, but they recognised the banners. Said they knew Lady Baratheon," 

"And you really thought to use _that_ as your saving grace?" Jaime pushed through the circle of mounted men on her horse. "You truly are as stupid as you look," All eyes looked up at her arrival. 

Rorge and Shagwell looked much the same as they had when she had seen them last at Harrenhal. Dirty, cruel and stinking, one noseless, one in faded motley. Only now they were in their knees, being held down by two men apiece. She wasn't afraid of them, had never truly been afraid of them. _Just afraid of what they'll say_. 

"Who'd have thought, she's back for more!" Shagwell cackled gleefully when he saw her. _Nothing would make me happier than to pull your entrails up through your nose with a meat hook and watch you choke on them_.

"Kingslayer," Rorge's beady eyes lit up. "We was just telling your boy here how we're dear old friends," He smirked, showing rotten teeth.

"Do you know these men, Mother?" Orryn frowned. Her son was shadowed by Ser Aredan; three of the Kingsguard had accompanied them on this journey, but Ser Balon and Ser Arys were elsewhere.

"They're of the Brave Companions," Jaime's lip curled. "Though the Bloody Mummers suits them better," Her face darkened. "The scum of the earth,"

"The sellsword band that betrayed Lord Tywin," Her son said flatly. "And delayed your return to King's Landing?" She nodded, and he straightened up, looking to the captain. "I hardly think we need to be listening to filth such as this. Hang them and have done with it," 

"Aye, your Grace," Men moved forward, one going to fetch a rope, and Rorge began to swear.

"You can kill us all you like, boy," He spat on the ground by the feet of Orryn's horse, ignoring the pointed but essentially useless 'your Grace' from Ser Aredan. "Can't change the fact I fucked your whore of a mother," There was a heavy silence. Jaime's smile froze in place. "Got nothing to say to that, _your Grace_ ," He sneered, and Shagwell giggled.

"Perhaps he fucks her too, Rorge," The last thing she saw before she refused to look his way was Orryn's face darkening dangerously. "She fucks her brother, why not her son too?" 

"Enough," Jaime's tone was cold enough to be her father's as she raised her chin. Her voice cut through the gasps and mutters at the obscene accusation. These guards knew how to deal with insults to their lords and ladies well enough... just not a man proudly confessing to having raped the king's mother in front of both the king and said mother. 

She felt sick to the stomach but was sure to keep her sharp smile on her face, as Shagwell cackled like the mad cunt he was, despite the men holding him kicking him viciously in the ribs to shut him up. He spluttered, hacking up blood that dribbled down his chin, but carried on laughing regardless. _If I throw up, I'll be sure to do it on their poxy faces_. 

How ironic was that the only safe place to look was at her rapists. _Gods, Orryn heard that, all of it, they all did, I can't_ \- no, she had to keep smiling. She was glad they were far enough from the road to not be seen or heard. _Aside from these few men, and my own son_.

"Old friends, you said," _Keep smiling_. Her own voice drowned out some of the ringing in her ears. "Yes, I can't put into words how glad I am to see you both again," 

It was easier if she focused on all her fantasies from the last months of what she'd like to do to these two. _A shame Zollo isn't here, really_. She hoped her eyes showed all the cruelty, malice, hate that was there. Her smile certainly did. 

"After all, a Lannister always pays their debts," She paused for a moment, then turned to the captain, careful not to look at Orryn, careful to make her tone bright and careless and cold. "Captain, these men talk too much. Have their tongues ripped out,"

The man blinked at her abrupt, harsh order. He opened his mouth, looking to the king, if anything rather hopefully. Jaime dared to glance in the same direction for a moment, seeing that Orryn's face was his father's stony mask. 

"Do it," Was all he said. The captain closed his mouth, grimly satisfied.

"Yes, your Grace," He nodded to two of his men, who moved forward. There were no pincers to hand, so it would have to be done with a dagger, which would undoubtedly cut up more of their mouths as they struggled, and not be nearly as clean. _What a shame that is_.

"Bitch!" Rorge roared, along with several much more graphic insults of what exactly he'd done and would like to do to her. "Filthy old whore!" 

Those became his last words. Rorge struggled and spat and swore, whilst the fool became a deadweight, his laughter nothing less than crazed. And then they screamed, then sort of gurgled, and Jaime smiled as two bloody tongues were flung at her feet. She laughed as one of the half-wild dogs that skirted the edges of their column darted forward and snapped both up.

Gregor Clegane still held Harrenhal. She was considering having them both sent there, to meet the same fate as their Goat, but there was always the chance they would escape on the journey there, not to mention that she wouldn't be there to watch. Making up her mind, Jaime dismounted her horse, stepping towards the two men still gargling in pain from the loss of their tongues and pulling out her dagger, making sure each of them saw it. 

"It's not too sharp, I'm afraid," She said, her tone regretful, the look on her face anything but as she ran a finger over the blade, testing it. "I could stab you in the heart or the eye, have it be done quickly. But I don't think that'll do. I could gut you and leave you to die in agony at the side of the road. Tempting, but then I'd miss it. Believe me, I want to see," Her smile sharpened. "I suppose I'll have to kill you the way I killed Aerys. What's good enough for a king is good enough for rabid dogs like you," She sheathed her dagger. "Is anyone willing to lend me a sword? One I can actually lift," 

Her own was in her saddlebags, wrapped up, and Sarsfield's would be too heavy to get a good swing in.

"Here, milady," One of the younger, slighter men stepped forward, handing over his simple blade. She smiled in thanks, making him blush, weighing it in her hand. 

"Let them both go," The men gawped at her order, but at Orryn's terse nod they did as she asked. Of course, both Rorge and Shagwell made to sprint for the woods, but Jaime was too quick for them. 

Before Rorge had managed to take a step, she'd opened his throat in one swift movement that sprayed blood violently. Whilst he collapsed, taking a sweetly long time to choke to death, clutching his throat as though he could hold it together, she was already setting off after Shagwell, leaping at his back and tackling him to the ground. 

The fool wasn't a large man and they rolled, but she got the upper hand, him ending up on his back with her pressing her sword to his throat hard enough to leave a red line. Even now, he still cackled, which made her blood boil. 

"What will it take to get you to _shut up?"_ She snarled, loathing the look of crazed laughter in his eyes as she slowly pressed the blade downwards. It was a somewhat awkward angle, and she had to saw a little, but it did the job, even though the deranged man never stopped laughing. 

Jaime got to her feet, no less angry than she had been two minutes ago, kicking the body for good measure as the fool choked and died. It struck her then that everyone present had seen that rather unladylike display, but she truly couldn't bring herself to care. 

She thought the day she ended any of Rorge, Shagwell or Zollo would be a day to celebrate, but now she just felt angry and embarrassed. Not at the way she'd killed two men herself in front of an audience, but at what they had managed to say before she had their tongues ripped out. Now half the men were looking at her like she was a delicate victim, which was actually worse than the half who were looking at her like she was deranged. 

"Here," She gave the sword back to its owner, who took it with wide eyes, turning to address the group. "I think we can all agree that those men were the scum of the earth, and that every word that came out of their mouths was a filthy lie. Feel free to tell tales of how the wicked Kingslayer turned savage and brutally murdered two poor unsuspecting rapists, but if I hear a whisper of _anything_ those men might have said before I opened their throats, whoever spread such lies will soon be going the same way,"

"If any of you doubt my lady mother," Orryn spoke, no trace of a smile in his voice. "I can promise that threat will be followed up on," Jaime nodded at him, briefly, before heading to her horse. 

It took her three attempts to mount from the ground. She hadn't replied her legs were shaking so much, yet batted away the soldier who tried to help her. Once mounted, she drew her cloak out from her saddlebags, wrapping it around herself to hide the bloodstains.

"Here, milady," Sarsfield rode up beside her, offering her a waterskin, expression blessedly neutral as usual, no outward judgement or sympathy, which she was grateful for. Jaime nodded her thanks, using it to scrub the blood off her hands and face, before returning it, wheeling her horse around.

"Leave the bodies for the wolves," Was all she said as she trotted back to the road, unable to spend another second there.

*

"Mother," Jaime was seated around a fire that night when Orryn finally approached her. Brien and Sansa both nodded in respect, as did everyone else, but she herself simply stared into the fire. "Could you walk with me?"

"Of course, your Grace," She smiled, knowing it was a request rather than a command, getting smoothly to her feet. 

"You don't have to call me that," Her son said quietly as they moved away from the group. 

"I know," She looked him in the eye, looked up at him, the boy she had held in her arms as a babe not so long ago, the boy who was now king. There was a pause. "I'm sorry you had to witness that display earlier," It had hit her some time ago that that was the first time any of her children had seen her in a real fight. "It wasn't exactly something I'd wish for you to see,"

"Or hear?" She smiled grimly at his words. 

"Or hear," Jaime looked at the path ahead of them. "You'll get used to being slandered as a king. People spew all kinds of shit from their mouths, though it's rarely as foul as that,"

"No one makes a man's death that bloody for slander alone," Orryn's voice was mostly level, though she caught the rage behind it, saw it in his blue eyes. Jaime found herself wondering what Stannis would have done in his son's place.

"Perhaps. Perhaps not," That was the closest she was going to get to the truth with him. "Regardless, the men are dead now, and the matter is of no one's concern but my own," That was clear enough, or so she thought, yet her son continued to speak on the matter. 

"I understand why you don't want to talk about this with me, but there are things I can do. I can be a king rather than your son, when it comes to this," Those words would have chilled her, had she not seen the pain in his eyes, the determination to put things right. _A bit late for that, I'm afraid_. "Was it those two alone? If there were others, I can have them hunted down like the dogs they are,"

"Your grandfather is already seeing to the hunting down of their entire sellsword band," She said rather shortly, continuing at Orryn's raised eyebrow. _You told him?_ "They betrayed him and delayed my return, that's reason enough," She hesitated. "And I only tell you this so you don't believe that half a hundred men had your mother, but yes, it was those two only," _Three, actually, with one of them still out there, but what he doesn't know can't hurt him_. "Now I never want to hear this spoken off again. If I had my way, you never would have known at all,"

"Fine," He nodded. "But Mother - " It was her son's turn to hesitate, and suddenly he looked less like a king and more like a boy again. "Are you alright?" Jaime took a breath.

"I'm fine now," She lied through her teeth, forcing a smile on her face. "I did rather worse to them today than they did to me," More lies; if Jaime had not had children to come back to, she would have fought with everything she had. She would have made them kill her, for it would be less awful than meekly submitting like just another weak woman for them to play with. 

That night had been the worst of her life, worse than getting her breast cut off, worse than her brother turning on her, worse than being married off to a cold stranger, worse than anything Aerys had done, worse than the Whispering Wood, worse than Ashara's death. Even worse than the day her mother died. 

For months she had been holding that truth away with hate, rage and a burning desire for vengeance, but now she did not even have that anymore. Such feelings seemed foolish when directed at two brutalised corpses. It was only now hitting her in full, when faced with her son who knew it all.

"Don't look at me like that," She hissed with rather more anger than intended, another thing that made her burn with shame. 

"Like what?" Orryn frowned. 

"Like I'm a victim," Jaime's jaw set. "I'm your mother. You should never look at me with pity,"

"Do you truly think I'd patronise you like that?" Her son asked. "You're seeing what you expect to see. If I'm giving you any look, it's more regret than anything. Regret that no one was there to stop that happening to you - that you have to keep it secret - that you didn't take more time killing them. I don't think any less of you, and anyone who would is a fool. You're still one of the toughest people I know,"

Her eyes were glassy by the end of that, but Jaime blinked it away, managing a weak smile. 

"I'm not sure I like being called tough," She said. "It bring to mind old boot leather, and strict old matrons,"

"Well you're as far from matronly as can be, if that helps," 

"Thanks, I suppose," She turned to face him, pulling him into a hug that he returned easily. "Not too kingly for that, are you?"

"Perhaps not in front of the court," Jaime felt him smile. 

"I agree. It can't be said that the King of the Seven Kingdoms is a mother's boy. Your father would turn in his grave," She paused. "Your grandfather would likely put you in one," Orryn chuckled, and they stepped apart. Her son seemed to hesitate.

"Ser Brien - "

"Is none of your business," She said flatly. He looked rather glad by that reply.

*

Robb Stark met them in the courtyard of Riverrun, wearing his crown. 

Jaime would've laughed at the boy's nerve, had she not been watching her son - who was _not_ wearing his own crown - carefully. Orryn, to his credit, didn't blink, merely dismounted his horse and walked forward as planned, Ser Aredan and Ser Arys at his side. The other important members of the group also dismounted; Uncle Kevan, Garlan Tyrell, Arthur, several higher up lords of the Stormlands, Reach and West, Jaime, Helia and finally Sansa, escorted by Brien.

"Lord Stark," He said, neither friendly nor unfriendly, but most importantly not condescending. _This is their first meeting_ , she realised, remembering he was the only one of her children not to come to Winterfell. There was a moment where everyone tensed at the lack of kingly title in his address, but then Stark spoke.

"Your Grace," His tone was much the same as Orryn's, and he did not bow, nor incline his head. He glanced to his side. "May I introduce Lord Edmure and Ser Brynden Tully," Neither men moved. "My mother Lady Catelyn and my sister Arya," Lady Stark nodded distractedly, having seen Sansa, her eyes never leaving her daughter's face. 

Jaime had been watching the woman's reaction, and her eyes widened a fraction as they saw the scruffy-haired, long-faced girl stood at her mother's side, reluctantly stuffed into a dress. Arya Stark, who by all rights should have ended up dead in a Flea Bottom gutter, had somehow survived and made it halfway across the kingdoms to her mother. 

It was then that she saw the hulking figure of the Hound stood among Stark's men. Though that officially made him a traitor as well as a deserter, Jaime had rather liked Sandor Clegane - he had always enjoyed her visits to King's Landing to see Joffrey, mostly because they always involved her giving the boy a sharp dressing down - and was not going to make it an issue.

"My lords, my lady," Orryn nodded. "My granduncle Ser Kevan Lannister will be representing the Westerlands in these talks, my goodbrother Ser Garlan Tyrell the Reach and my younger brother, Lord Arthur Baratheon, the Stormlands. And of course, this is my mother, Lady Regent of the Seven Kingdoms, and my sister Helia,"

"My lady," Edmure was the only one to acknowledge Helia, nodded with a small smile, clearly not disappointed with his soon-to-be bride. The rest were all glowering at Jaime, who turned away from glowering at Edmure to give them all an infuriating look.

"We are quite familiar with Lady Jaime here," Stark ground out, clearly loathing the fact she technically had all the power of a queen. There was an uncomfortable silence, which she took it upon herself to break.

"As promised, Lady Stark," She smiled sharply at Lady Catelyn, gesturing theatrically back at Sansa. "Your daughter, safe and sound and happily unwed," Her marriage to Tyrion had been annulled shortly after he was declared innocent. 

She was going to say something else, but Sansa was looking at her imploringly, so Jaime shrugged. The girl needed no more encouragement, letting out a stifled sob and running towards her mother. 

Jaime turned away from their loving reunion, glancing at Brien. His eyes met hers, he hesitated a moment, looking torn, before following Sansa over to the Starks.

The official business was all very tense, of course, but in the end the treaty was signed and that was all that mattered. All hostages would be exchanged on both sides, Lannister forces would withdraw from the Riverlands as long as Stark and Tully stood down. Robb Stark would give up his crown, becoming Lord Paramount of the North, in exchange for a full pardon. The sword Ice would be returned to the Starks. Etcetera.

Then came the marriage arrangements. Helia would marry Edmure. Sansa would marry Arthur. Robb Stark, of course, had a wife already, some Westerling girl; though Jaime didn't know exactly what her father had been planning prior to Joffrey's death, given her illuminating conversation with Lord Bolton at Harrenhal, she knew better than Stark did exactly how close that match had nearly lost him the war. _Lucky Orryn is a different kind of king_.

The feast that night cleared the air ever so slightly, in that she now doubted they'd all suddenly start killing each other, which was progress from when they had arrived. It wasn't a lavish feast, given the fact the Lannisters had burned a large proportion of the Riverlands harvest, but there was adequate food and more than enough drink to get everyone loosening up a little, celebrating the end of the fighting.

Even if there was plenty of residual bitterness there towards the Lannisters, the men from the Stormlands and Reach had never fought the Starks, so by the end of the night most were getting along as well as could be expected.

At the high table things were a little more tense. Ser Kevan and the Blackfish seemed to be having a relatively civil but forced conversation, which eased up when Garlan Tyrell joined in. 

It took a while for Orryn and a recently de-crowned Robb Stark to warm up to each other; Arthur's presence helped with that, having befriended Stark at Winterfell two years ago, and soon the three were engaged in an animated conversation about sparring that made those nearby remember that despite being three of the most powerful men in Westeros, kings and lords, not one was any older than sixteen. 

Helia had been placed between Lady Catelyn and Edmure Tully. Catelyn spent the whole time talking to Sansa sat on her other side, as though reassuring herself her daughter was really here, which left Helia to talk to Edmure. She didn't look too impressed with her husband-to-be, not that anyone expected her to be, though at least she didn't seem to despite him. 

And whichever fool had thought to put Jaime next to angry little Arya Stark deserved a day in the stocks.

"Are you going to glower at me the whole evening?" She raised an eyebrow at the girl.

"You're a Lannister," The girl replied promptly, Ned Stark's eyes glaring up at her, though Jaime wouldn't be exaggerating by calling that look homicidal. "I hate Lannisters. Your son killed my father,"

"That he did," Jaime said conversationally. "Joffrey was a little fool, and a monster to boot. He wasn't meant to kill Stark, only send him to the Wall," Arya's eyes widened momentarily, then she returned to glaring. 

"I don't believe you,"

"Suit yourself. Believe it or not, I rather liked your father,"

"Why?" Came the suspicious reply. "He always said how he hated your brother. _I_ hate your brother, even more than I hate you," Jaime didn't hear that often; to most, Cersen appeared charming and gracious and most importantly, powerful. Whereas she was the sharp-tongued, arrogant whore of a Kingslayer with a supposed string of murders to her name. 

"I'm flattered," She said dryly. "I liked your father because when he found me sat on the Iron Throne with a bloody sword on my knees and a king's corpse at my feet, he didn't condemn me on sight. He also was the only one other than myself to challenge Robert for praising the murders of the Targaryen children," Arya was quiet for a moment, digesting that. 

"You killed the Mad King with a sword?" Of all the things she picked out of that... "I thought you stabbed him in the back while fucking him," She choked on her wine, and Arya looked rather satisfied, having clearly been trying to shock her. But then Jaime laughed. 

"Don't let your mother hear you talking like that," She shook her head, amused, not missing the reluctant twitch of the girl's lips that was quickly covered by another furious scowl. "How old are you, ten? Do you even know what that means?"

"I'm eleven, not a _baby_. Of course I know what it means, I've lived as an orphan boy for a year,"

"That you have," She took another sip of wine, considering her. 

"So?"

"So what?"

"Can you really fight with a sword?"

"Ask your mother about _that_ ," Jaime said. "She was at the Whispering Wood. I killed seven men in front of her and injured at least that number as well,"

"Seven _Stark_ men," Arya accused. 

"Don't give me that. As if you wouldn't fight back against Lannister soldiers trying to capture you and kill your own men," She snorted. "I wouldn't be surprised if you'd had to fight back already," The girl looked away. "Oh, so you _have?_ Am I right in thinking your Lady mother doesn't know?"

"Don't you dare tell her," She snapped angrily. "Or I'll sneak into your room in the night and - " She broke off abruptly, seeming to remember where she was - a feast celebrating a peace treaty - and who she was talking to. 

"And what?" Jaime chuckled. "I guarantee before you reached my bed I'd be awake with a dagger in hand," Aerys and the Bloody Mummers had made her a light sleeper. "You might know how to get by with that little knife you're hiding in your dress," She ignored Arya's glower that she'd noticed that. "But I was trained to use a sword by Gerion Lannister and Arthur Dayne, and have practised every day I was able for the past twenty five years. You wouldn't win,"

"Well I trained with the First Sword of Braavos," Arya shot back. "Syrio Forel. And I _have_ a sword, it's called Needle,"

"I'm guessing your mother doesn't know about that either," She said dryly.

The girl scowled.

"No. You'd better not tell her - "

"Or you'll kill me in my sleep, I know," Jaime humoured her. "Why would I tell her? That's what she'd want me to do. I liked Ned Stark, but have little love for his wife,"

"I heard you call Joffrey a monster," Arya said. "I'll tell everyone you said that, if you do tell her,"

"Gods, if you're going to blackmail me, do it properly," She shook her head. "Everyone knows what I thought of Joff. Do you want a real secret?" Arya tried to not look too interested. "See that knight over there. The big one,"

"The one who brought Sansa home? With a face like the back end of a cow?"

"That's the one. I once tried to kill him at a bad time. Not only did I lose, the fight I started got us captured by sellswords. Tell him I admitted that and I really will tell your mother everything," The girl blinked. 

"I thought you were going to say you're fucking him," Jaime choked on her wine again. She really needed to time her sips better.

"How do you know _that?"_ She said, coughing. 

"He's been making disgusting eyes this way all evening," Arya wrinkled her nose. "Like Sansa used to make at Joffrey, before he chopped Father's head off, like a lovestruck deer. Only... worse," She had to laugh. Brien was anything but subtle.

By the end of the meal, Arya was no longer even glaring daggers at her. After the food was gone, people began to move onto the space cleared for dancing, as the minstrels picked up a livelier tune. Jaime was considering asking Robb Stark to dance just to see the look on his face, or perhaps even Edmure Tully - it would be a good time to threaten him over Helia - but before she had the chance to move away from the table, she was waylaid by Lady Stark. 

Glancing to her right, Jaime saw Arya had disappeared, silently slipped away. The girl was wise. _And surprisingly sneaky_. That felt like a good thing to remember.

"My lady," Lady Catelyn's voice was rather sour, but grudgingly grateful. 

"Lady Catelyn, what a pleasure," Jaime smiled sharply. "Here to make me swear any more oaths at sword-point? Or here to get me blind-drunk again and shove me into the bottom of a boat?"

"Let us not bother with pleasantries," _Is that what you call this?_ Catelyn pursed her lips, clearly still disliking her intensely. The feeling was more than mutual. "I am here to thank you for fulfilling your oath to return my daughter to me, as courtesy demands,"

"No more, no less," Jaime said dryly. Catelyn ignored her. 

"I doubt we will ever see eye to eye," She continued, taking a deep breath. "Or even like each other. Too much has occurred between our two families for friendship to be possible,"

"My son taking off your husband's head, and your brother leaving me to rot in the bowels of this very castle for months," Jaime said amiably. The other woman's eyes narrowed. She knew the words Catelyn wanted to say - 'after you killed a dozen good men' - and it was rather amusing to watch her struggle to hold them back.

"Exactly that," The woman's tone was cold, her mouth unsmiling. "But seeing as your daughter is to marry my brother, and _my_ daughter is to marry your son... I would appreciate a mutual understanding. I will never not find you insufferable, my lady, but can we agree to be courteous at the very least?"

"You do not wish us to end up as the two bitter old crones sniping and bickering at the dinner table to the despair of our children?" Jaime smirked slightly. "Very well. Your definition of courtesy is likely different to mine, but I'll play nicely as best I can," 

Catelyn opened her mouth, but clearly realised that was the best she was going to get, as her next question was undoubtedly not what she wanted to say. 

"In which case, how did you fare on your journey to King's Landing?" The woman asked. "I heard you were detained by a sellsword band that betrayed your father," She didn't sound too sorry about that.

Oh, but Jaime had to be careful here. As Roose Bolton was currently sat several seats down the table very much possessing his head, likely the Starks did not know of whatever sinister plan he was cooking up with Lord Tywin before Orryn ascended the throne. She wasn't going to be the fool to let that one slip.

"Sad to say we were," She said. "We wouldn't have been, had the knight you sent with me not been too stubborn to give me a sword,"

"Can you blame him?" Lady Catelyn narrowed her eyes. 

"No, given I tried my best to kill him when I _did_ get one," She grinned, and the other woman's eyebrows shot up. "Though I believe when the sellswords found us he was holding me face down in the river, so it was hardly a one-sided affair,"

"Ser Brien tried to _drown_ you?" Catelyn frowned, then shook her head, lip curling slightly. "I shouldn't be surprised. After a day in your company I might try the same, let alone weeks," Jaime laughed genuinely at that, rather surprised, and even Catelyn gave the smallest of grudging smiles.

"As pleasant as this little talk has been," She said. "I fear I must dance with your brother," At the woman's puzzled expression she elaborated, smiling sharply. "By that I mean put the fear of the Stranger into him," Not waiting for a response, she made a beeline for Lord Tully.

Jaime danced with Edmure, who left her a little paler than he was when she had approached him for all that he blustered indignantly at her words. _A job well done_. He would treat Helia like the almost-princess she was if he knew what was good for him, which she had made quite certain he had.

She also danced with Robb Stark, whom she was quite surprised accepted her invitation, only for him to glower even more than Arya had done and let her know how displeased he was at Sansa's mistreatment at the hands of Cersen and Joffrey. Jaime had raised an eyebrow and asked if he was planning on showing Helia where they had kept her mother for months. 

She managed to make the Blackfish give a harsh bark of laughter by recounting some of the unpleasantness that had met her after escaping Riverrun, the whole time sending sly looks at Brien whenever she span past the corner he was seated in with several other household knights.

"So how long did it take to get him to break," Ser Brynden asked flatly after this had happened several times. 

"I don't know what you mean, ser," Jaime didn't even try to sound innocent, given this one would just scoff.

"Of course not," He scoffed anyway. "I'm surprised he came back here. And I'm frankly astounded that you did,"

"Killing one king doesn't mean I break all my promises," 

"It is telling of your character, however,"

"Which is?" She smiled sharply. 

"It's hard to think of a word to describe the woman that breaks her marriage vows with her own brother and conspires to murder her nephews, goodbrother and husband to get her incestuous bastard on the throne. You hardly stopped at one king,"

"Most settle for calling me a whore," Jaime didn't even bother to deny his accusations, seeing as he'd never believe her. "It's less longwinded. Though people tend to call me Lady Regent now. To my face, at least," 

"I suppose 'whore' sums it all up nicely,"

She smiled at him, then made an intentionally abrupt misstep, causing his hand on her waist to slip considerably lower than was appropriate. 

"Ser Brynden!" Jaime gave a mock gasp. "Calling me a whore doesn't make me one. That's no way to treat the king's mother, in the middle of a crowded hall, no less," Her voice wasn't loud enough to carry far, but a couple of people did look around at them.

The man snatched his hand back, glaring at her, but she had timed it well and the song had just ended. With a grin Jaime pulled away from him, happy to have had the last word, making a beeline towards Brien.

"How about a dance, ser?"

They made it through exactly one dance before she made the assessment that everyone who mattered was either in bed or drunk enough to not notice her slipping out of the hall with the young knight. 

* 

The next day was monotonous. There was more to be discussed about the treaty, though this was simply finer details to be niggled over by lords, and Jaime was bored to tears. She had to be present given she was the Regent, and did make an effort to listen, but after another hour of pointless bickering she gave up. Uncle Kevan was there to note anything of note and report back to her father, who surely wouldn't be relying on her for such things.

Talks concluded in the mid-afternoon, and Jaime was returning to her rooms, thinking about getting changed and finding some place to spar, when she heard her name be called.

"Lady Jaime," She didn't even try to hide her groan as an irate Lady Catelyn strode towards her, though that soon turned to a sly smile as she saw an equally irritated-looking Arthur following reluctantly behind her. "Why is it that you never taught your son that it is improper to be rolling around in the dirt with a highborn lady?"

"Rolling around in what sense, my lady?" She asked, pretending to be shocked. Arthur laughed, clearly finding the whole thing a waste of time, whilst Catelyn glared. "Apologies. Do go on,"

"I came across your son and my younger daughter Arya covered in dirt and dust in the godswood," She said. "Hitting each other with sticks. Arya is wild enough as it is, and doesn't need any encouragement,"

"I was teaching her to fight," Arthur protested. "My lady," He added with a glance at Jaime, remembering his manners. "She asked me to. She's not bad, either," He sounded rather admiring. _Bless_.

"Of course she asked you to," Lady Catelyn said sharply. "I would not mind if it were my sons you were teaching, but Arya is a lady, and has no need for fighting with swords. It is up to you to refuse her,"

"Isn't Arya the one that recently spent a year fending for herself in the war-torn Riverlands?" Jaime raised an eyebrow. "I barely survived months of that, my lady, and I am one of the best swordsmen in the Seven Kingdoms. Have you spoken about what happened to her?"

"Of course I have," Lady Catelyn narrowed her eyes. "What kind of mother do you take me for?"

"She'll have left bits out," Jaime said. "I know I left out a great deal when my father and children asked of what happened to me upon my return to King's Landing. I wouldn't be surprised if your sweet little daughter has killed a man or two herself,"

"Don't be ridiculous, she's barely _eleven_ ,"

"I saw the body of a girl near as young as that hung in a tree on the road to King's Landing," She said bluntly. "Around her neck hung a sign saying 'they lay with lions'. Ser Brien will tell you, he tried to bury the bodies before your river galley caught up with us,"

"What are you trying to do, drive me out of my mind with worry?" Catelyn glared at her, but Jaime saw her eyes were glassy. 

"No," She shrugged. "Just saying that it isn't a bad idea to let your daughter learn to fight, if she wishes. She's never going to be a perfect lady - I remember her from Winterfell and she was a wild thing then, let alone after the past two years,"

"As if any husband would let her fight with a sword,"

"Stannis Baratheon allowed me to," Jaime shrugged. "And he was the most uptight, lawfully-minded man I've met. And as much as I despised Robert, I'm sure he would have let Lyanna Stark fight as well. He'd have found it amusing. You'd be surprised, I think, at what men are willing to put up with. And if they aren't, well," She smiled toothily. "If you're good enough, who's going to stop you?"

"I'd let my wife use a sword," Arthur shrugged. "Not that Sansa would want to," Catelyn caught Jaime's eye at that, she suspected with the same thought she had herself. There was a pause.

"Arthur, go," She waved a hand. Her son didn't need telling twice, taking the opportunity of Lady Catelyn's silence and running off, no doubt back to his new little shadow. "Am I right in thinking your sweet Lady Sansa would rather have a calmer and less obnoxious husband than my third son? And that after all the trauma my family have put her through, that she'd rather stay as far away from the south and King's Landing as possible?"

"I think you are," Catelyn sighed. "How old is Arthur?"

"Thirteen. That's only two years difference,"

"Do you think it matters which Stark daughter is sent south in three years?"

"I can't imagine so. The wedding can wait until Arya's sixteen. She can spend two years at Storm's End beforehand," They eyed each other. 

"The best chance I have of getting Arya to marry anyone is if her betrothed is someone she considers a friend," Catelyn sighed. "I doubt it's a good thing if Lord and Lady Baratheon are both as bad as each other, but really, I don't think I'd be able to get her into a wedding gown unless she knew her husband wouldn't try and force her to be a proper lady,"

"Arthur would prefer marrying someone he doesn't have to watch himself around," Jaime said, then grinned. "He'll take the news rather well, I think. Please let me know how telling sweet Lady Arya goes,"

Arthur did indeed take the news well, grinning widely.

"Not that I didn't want to marry Sansa," He said hurriedly. "She's very pretty. But Arya is a lot more fun. And I think she likes me more than Sansa does. I didn't stand by and watch her get beaten by Joffrey's men," _At least one thirteen year old boy has their priorities right_.

*

Jaime was up early the next day, to spar with Sarsfield and Brien, before both knights had to attend Orryn and Lady Catelyn respectively. Arthur was there too, the only one there who had yet to beat her, though he had beaten the Lord Commander once before, which he had crowed about for days.

She was on form that morning; although she didn't win every match, she won a considerable proportion, which with these two was very good indeed. Riverrun was a relatively small castle, with no private yard, so their little group attracted rather a lot of stares training in the same area the rest of the knights did. Plenty of glares and muttering too, given many still remembered her failed attempt at escape, not to mention the Whispering Wood. 

She had just knocked Sarsfield's sword out of his hand, breathing heavily after a hard-won match, when she heard the voice of the Blackfish call out to her. 

"You know, I wondered at the time why Tywin Lannister's twelve year old daughter was so interested in my tales of battles and swordplay," Jaime looked up, rather surprised. "Then I wondered how the Kingslayer was able to kill or injure a dozen hardened soldiers at the Whispering Wood when she looks like she sits around all day brushing her hair,"

"Seems you have your answer, ser," She looked over to Arthur, who was fighting Brien; he refused to spar with her here, which Jaime did not object to. Being beaten by their mother wasn't an ideal reputation for any boy to have, let alone Lord Baratheon.

"I've heard it said that young Lord Arthur had his Uncle Robert's fighting skills," Ser Brynden was following her stare. "I'm not sure about that. He fights like you. Speed and agility rather than brute strength and power,"

"He has to, he's a six foot beanpole," 

"And you don't even have his reach. How is it you manage to win against men like the Lord Commander?"

"What about Ser Brien? I beat him too,"

"I'm sure the sight of you wearing those breeches does half the work for you with that one," He said rather scornfully. She grinned. "So how is it you prevail against Ser Aredan?"

"I can show you if you wish," She raised an eyebrow, ignoring the childish leap of excitement her stomach gave at the prospect of fighting the Blackfish. He barked a laugh. 

"How do I know I won't end up with a practice sword buried in my back, Kingslayer,"

"Come on, Ser Brynden, have you so little faith in your skills?" She looked up at him with a wicked smile. "Surely the famous Blackfish is not such an old man that he couldn't beat a lady half his size?" The knight sighed, reaching for a spare practice sword. 

"I'm not doing this because you insulted my pride," He warned her, weighing the blade in his hands before settling into a fighting stance. Grinning, Jaime did the same. "I'm doing it because I'm curious. And to see if we should get some better guards," He struck first, without warning, catching her off guard enough to make her blocking strike clumsy. 

Then came an onslaught of blows, fast and heavy, forcing her back several steps. Jaime was forced to get over her star-struck foolishness, quickly finding her footing and focusing only on the fight. The man wasn't going easy on her, and age had barely diminished the power and skill behind his blows; the speed that had faded slightly was more than made up for by the wealth of experience behind the blade, and the viciousness of his attack. No doubt he would relish in the chance to knock her into the dirt.

Jaime gritted her teeth and gave as good as she got. This was everything she wanted in a spar, a challenge even to keep up, no need to hold back. There was no doubt she was faster and more agile than the ageing knight, but he was stronger, taller, more experienced, and hated her a lot more than she hated him. 

Ser Brynden landed a good few blows on her - she would have purple bruises blooming within the hour - but she got just as many hits on him. In his prime, Jaime would go as far to say that she and the Blackfish would be evenly matched, at the same experience and physical fitness. Now, however, he was twenty years older than she was. 

That was most likely the deciding factor in her win. A rather overenthusiastic blow aimed at her ribs swung him a little off balance as she dodged it, and she used that chance to hit him in the knee, making him stumble. That split second cost him the match, and her sword was at his throat in the blink of an eye.

They both stood there breathing heavily for a moment, Jaime trying not to look too pleased with herself for once, suddenly feeling the uncharacteristic need to be a good sport.

Then suddenly his blade came up, a sharp rap on her wrist, and her own sword was no longer in her hand, flying through the air as she felt the cold steel at her own throat. She gave a ragged laugh as a cheer went up from the crowd that had formed, mostly Riverrun men as the majority of the Baratheon, Lannister and Tyrell knights were camped outside the walls with their men.

"Who won that?" She heard Arthur ask Brien, who shrugged. 

"You'd be dead if that was a real fight," Jaime said to the Blackfish with no real malice. 

"Not if you hesitated like you did then. Then it would be your blood on the end of my sword. Who knew your vile exterior hid a soft woman's heart," His smirk told her he wasn't serious.

"Perhaps," She grinned. "A good match, though. Glad to see your skills haven't turned to rot in your old age," She went to retrieve her sword, but a hand on her shoulder stopped her. Ser Brynden leant down to mutter in her ear.

"Good thing you were born a woman. You'd cut a bloody swathe on a battlefield as it is, let alone with the height and reach of your brother, and a knight's experience," Her eyes widened, and for once she had no reply. _Was that... a compliment?_

The Blackfish drew back with a raised eyebrow. 

"I still don't like you, Kingslayer, and likely never will," He spoke at a normal volume. "But it would amuse me greatly to see you go up against some of these men here," He raised his voice, gesturing at the watching knights and soldiers with a grin that made him look much younger. "Anyone think they can do better than I did against Lady Lannister, boys? Step up for your turn,"

Silence, for a moment, two, three. Then Jaime broke it with a laugh, picking up her sword. 

"None of them want to risk being beaten by a woman," Amused, she turned back to Brien, who met her suddenly raised blade with barely a blink.

Brynden Tully's words got her thinking, about what if she was born Tywin Lannister's eldest son, and Cersen was the lady. She had never particularly desired to be a boy... more wished she was allowed to train openly with the young squires during her youth, rather than having to hide and fear her father's discovery. 

For a moment Jaime felt a stab of longing, imagining herself as growing up with a sword in her hand, her skills recognised and praised rather than met with disapproval and scorn. 

Then she realised that not much would be too different after all. Her father would still have married her off to a stranger - likely Lysa, which was truly revolting - and expected her to have lots of sons, only she would have the added responsibility of being the heir to Casterly Rock, a thought that she found distasteful. She wouldn't have made a good heir. Her brother was always better at things like that, or thought he was at any rate.

 _Cersen_... Her twin would despise being a woman. Cersen being married off and expected to bear children and obey a husband was unthinkable. And rather amusing. Would Cersen have killed Aerys, had he been in her place during the Rebellion? Likely not. 

Gods, that would mean King's Landing would've been blown sky-high by wildfire, everyone in the city - including Cersen and her father - with it. 

It was likely for the best things had turned out how they did.

*

It wasn't the wedding Jaime would have wished for her daughter. Nor the wedding Helia would have wished for herself, but to her credit the girl seemed to be making the best of things. Edmure Tully was hardly a bad-looking man, she pointed out. Arthur had snickered, remarking that the whores and tavern wenches of the Riverlands clearly didn't think so either. 

Jaime had remarked then that at least he'd know where to stick it, laughing as she made them both blush, choosing to refrain from noting that _her_ first husband most likely hadn't even known that much. The second husband certainly would, but she was hardly awaiting her own wedding night with eager anticipation.

She was there with Helia and her maids the morning of the wedding, helping her to get ready. Her daughter looked beautiful, inches taller than she was and willowy, with handsome features and glossy black hair arranged in braids piled atop her head, almost like a crown. She looked like a woman grown, rather than a girl of barely fifteen. 

Though she was still a child, innocent despite the mature front she presented to everyone. She had her mother's sharp tongue and mocking smile, but Jaime knew too well what that expression hid. She saw Helia's eyes, and they were scared. 

"I was sick to the stomach on the morning of my wedding," She told her once the maids left, being brutally honest for once. The girl could take it. "I asked Cersen to take me away, to leave it all behind," Helia grimaced, understandably. "He refused, of course, but said he'd be there for the bedding ceremony, to make sure no one laid a hand on me," 

_Then he gathered up my wedding skirts and took me hard against a desk, before leaving in a sulk without another word_. 

"When the cry for the bedding went up, he stormed out of the hall. I had to put up with Robert taking his place," It was her turn to grimace. "My point is, your wedding will be much better than mine. You're doing better than I was already," _By turning up to the wedding a maid, having not lain with your twin brother hours before_. "Arthur won't leave your side during the bedding ceremony. I'll be there for the feast. And like I said before, at least your husband will know where to stick it,"

"Mother," Helia protested, though it was rather half-hearted, and she gave a rather choked laugh. For once there were no comments about how she didn't want to hear things like that from her mother.

"If he hurts you, tell him," Jaime's grin faded. "No suffering in silence, I don't care what your septa says. If he doesn't listen, come to me. And if he ever tries to force you, you remember what I taught you..." She smiled grimly, and her daughter gave a short nod.

"I can't stab my husband," Helia smiled then, amused despite herself. "I'll just remind him my brother is the king, who can take away his titles at a whim. And if that fails, I'll remind him that my mother is the Kingslayer, and Lady Regent at that," 

Jaime chuckled, trying to ignore how much the rather dull look in her daughter's eyes hurt her, how her normally wicked smile was rather weak, how she quite clearly did not want to marry this man. The hypocrisy of it suddenly struck her; how could she, who had been raped by four different men, send her clearly unwilling daughter off to sleep with a stranger.

"You don't have to lay with him tonight," She found herself saying, not caring that her father would disagree with every word. "You're young, he can at least wait until you're sixteen without there being an issue. I can talk to him, get him to stay with his whores for the time being," Helia's brave face dropped, and for an awful moment Jaime thought her proud, stubborn daughter might cry.

"Every girl feels this way on her wedding night," Her eyes were glassy but no tears fell. "Father would have said it's my duty as a wife. Grandfather would say it's my duty to my house. Uncle Robert would be confused as to why I didn't want to in the first place,"

"They're all men," Jaime said. "And lords, at that. They don't know what it's like to feel helpless,"

"Like you've ever felt helpless," Helia smiled, bemused. "You're the best swordsman I've ever seen. What man could lay a hand on you, if you didn't let them?" _Oh sweetling_... Out of everything, that was what brought Jaime closest to tears. Helia, for once, was so blissfully ignorant, and there was no way in the seven hells that she was going to disillusion her. 

Not trusting herself to respond to that appropriately, instead she returned to her original point. 

"Helia. Say the word, and I will make sure no one lays a hand on you tonight," For once, there was no hint of a smile on her face. Her daughter thought it through for a moment or two, then smiled regretfully.

"Thank you, mother. But I'm too much my father's daughter to let you do that,"

Jaime swallowed.

"You're braver than I ever was," She said, placing a hand on Helia's shoulder and looking at their reflection in the mirror. "Taller too," There was now near two inches between them. Her daughter gave a small laugh. 

"I think it's time to go,"

*

The wedding wasn't a particularly fancy affair by high lord's standards, which in truth was better than the spectacle Joffrey's wedding was reported to have been. Jaime watched unsmiling throughout the ceremony as Orryn walked her down the aisle and Edmure Tully draped a blue and red cloak around Helia's shoulders. 

She supposed it was a good thing no one was murdered at any point during the day, which given the company, was a miracle in itself.

The feast was... a feast. Helia changed into a gown of Tully blue and Baratheon gold, which suited her far more than the white of her wedding dress. _Good thing she's not marrying a Stark_...

Orryn and Robb Stark seemed to get along well now, even if they weren't quite friends, which made things less tense at the high table. Lady Catelyn was less of a sour old cow now she had her daughters returned to her. Perhaps due to her mother's smothering, Arya had snuck away with Arthur to gods know where halfway through.

Any other children and Jaime would've been suspicious, but they really were most likely going to spar with wooden swords. It was rather sweet really, if amusing; she would certainly be teasing her third son about it at a later date, as Helia had been doing for days. 

Edmure was trying with his young bride at least, engaging Helia in conversation wherever he could and clearly restraining himself from joining in on the bawdy comments many of the knights and lords shouted their way. Helia sat tall and proud, every bit a Baratheon lady with Lannister blood, though her smiles were weak. Still nervous, even though she hid it well.

Jaime spent the evening exchanging (somewhat less venomous) barbs with the Blackfish, ensuring Helia was still alright and dancing with various men, never running out of partners; it seemed dancing with a beautiful woman outweighed their dislike of the Kingslayer. It was ironic, really, that they would all call her a whore behind her back but would not hesitate to jump into bed with her if she offered.

Of course the inevitable call for the bedding ceremony came before the night ended. Jaime remained seated, as did Lady Catelyn. They were some of the few that remained. Even Robb Stark had gone - she wasn't sure why that was surprising, but it was - though Orryn was sat some way down the table still. Brien had gone with them at Jaime's request, to ensure no one took too many liberties, like Robert had done at her own wedding.

"Aren't you going to join them, my lady?" She asked Catelyn only slightly mockingly. 

"I have no wish to see my brother disrobed, let alone assist with the disrobing," The lady replied, wrinkling her nose slightly. Jaime raised an eyebrow, and her eyes widened as she realised what she'd said, and to who. "I know you won't believe that wasn't intentional, but for the sake of civility I did not mean - " Catelyn broke off as she laughed, the woman's rather weary look actually fading into a faint, regretful smile. 

"In truth, I believe that is the reason Orryn stayed," Jaime glanced at her son. "Probably wise, given those nasty rumours about twins in our family,"

"Rumours, yes," The other woman disapprovingly took a sip of wine, clearly remembering their conversation in the dungeon all those months ago. Jaime chose to ignore that, the amusement suddenly leaving her at the sounds of a particularly loud cheer from the halls above. "You don't look happy to see your daughter wed, Lady Jaime," Catelyn remarked. "Edmure is a good match, no matter how you dislike our house,"

"I suppose a floppy fish is better than a husband who is violent and cruel," She conceded. "Or one like Robert. I simply recall how much I loathed my own wedding, and I was years Helia's elder at the time, and hardly a maid, marrying a man near enough my age. How would you like to see your sweet innocent Sansa wed my brother?"

"That's different," Catelyn didn't ask which brother she meant; to her, Tyrion and Cersen were as bad as the other. "Your brothers are both despicable,"

"One, perhaps," Jaime smiled rather tightly, not missing the woman's flash of surprise at that. _I wouldn't leave Myrcella alone in a room with Cersen_. "But that shows you do understand. I find your brother as repulsive as you find mine. Hence why I am not smiling like a fool at the idea of such a man bedding my daughter as we speak," 

Catelyn opened her mouth, most likely to protest, but Jaime was done with this conversation and got to her feet.

"I have sat through about as much of the evening as I can stomach. Goodnight, Lady Stark," She smiled sharply. "You'll sleep better than me, I fear, though both our beds are cold and empty," Brien was standing outside Helia's marriage chambers all night; he had offered before Jaime could ask. No doubt he had asked permission from his mistress Lady Catelyn. She scoffed slightly at the thought. 

"Goodnight, Lady Lannister," Came the rather cold reply. Jaime didn't bother correcting her, turning to leave the hall and not looking back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Starting to tie up some loose ends in this chapter. I've seen several reviews/comments about Cersen's future plans - unfortunately this story is coming to an end, and was only meant to be a bit of fun in the first place, otherwise I would be all for drawn out, complex plots and conspiracies. As it is, there will probably only be 2-3 chapters after this one, as this was never meant to be a long story.
> 
> How did everyone find the end of Rorge and Shagwell? Fitting or a bit much? Also the Arthur/Arya match, or was Arthur/Sansa better?
> 
> Thanks to all readers, and everyone who reviewed/commented!


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